Gravity
by Wayward Pug
Summary: After the events of the Breakworld, Hank McCoy takes his first assignment with S.W.O.R.D., which is complicated by the fact that he and Agent Brand don't get along.
1. Chapter 1

Henry McCoy nudged his suitcase with one mammoth foot, sliding it farther under the table and out of sight. The bad part of town and the mucky weather, he imagined, would not do any favors for the moods of the bar patrons, who already regarded him with hostility. He was too well dressed and too recognizable to be here, and they might…. He checked himself. Was he, Beast of the X-Men, actually worrying about getting robbed? He convinced himself that he wasn't, that it was just nerves. He never liked standing out, not since college—the last time he didn't inspire a little fear in people, the last time his strength and stature really made him feel at home in his own body. He refused to let himself imagine how the other people there saw him, this blue, twice-mutated cat thing…. He shook his head. Getting carried away again. He quietly tapped out a rhythm on the bare table with a claw, keeping the door in the periphery of his vision even as he refined the beat. He wouldn't be seeing his drum set for a couple weeks, at least. It did little to distract him from a growing concern as to the whereabouts of the person he was supposed to be traveling with. She was late.

Just as he grew anxious enough to get up from his chair to check outside—for what, he didn't know, maybe the evidence of some areal firefight that kept her busy and him waiting—the door swung open and he let out the breath he didn't remember holding. The woman in the entrance was bedraggled, but her presence meant he wasn't the only weird one in the room. As much as he disliked her, he was thankful for the small favor. She shook the rain off her jacket (black with green seams—everything else she wore was just black. At least she was in civvies this time) and strode in with just enough arrogance to make Henry only the second least liked person there. Spotting him somewhere behind her green lenses, she made her way over to his table and stood there, crossing her arms. She was only a little taller than him when he was sitting down.

"You're early," she said. Henry found himself surprised by the terseness in her voice. He had expected her to be a little less businesslike now that the Breakworld ordeal was over.

Henry didn't need to check his watch; he had been counting the minutes to her arrival since he sat down. "I'm not early—you're late." There was a hostility in his voice he hadn't intended. He spotted the arch of an eyebrow rise just above her frames. The mirrored sunglasses kept her expression unreadable, a barrier between any understandings they might reach otherwise. Sliding his gaze from the tiny green reflections of himself to one side, he thought he caught some discoloration around her cheekbone and eyebrow, but it was faint enough that it could be a trick of the light. His tone of voice changed, doctor's instincts taking over. "Are you hurt?" Maybe there had been a firefight after all.

"What, you mean this?" She slipped the glasses down her nose just long enough to give him a look at a black eye that perfectly matched the shape her glasses would make if they were pressed hard enough into her socket. "Oh, nothing like the inconvenience I've caused you. Mild concussions and damage to a jet ten times as expensive as your X-Mansion are small potatoes compared to your delicate feelings." In the instant where he could see her eyes, she didn't blink once, her unwavering gaze challenging him to find something else to dog her about. Henry was taken aback by how venomous her reply was. Had he offended her—assuming she had enough emotion in her to feel offense?

He grimaced. He was supposed to be the more cordial of the two, at least in theory. He needed to backpedal. "Let me see," he offered, half-standing and holding out a hand to remove her glasses. She slipped around his grasp, sitting in the chair across from him with glasses still firmly attached.

He could feel her acid green eyes on him, tired but unblinking, even as she snapped her fingers and called "Barmaid." For one incredulous second Henry wondered if she was addressing him. A nervous girl with a few too many piercings appeared at her side, offering stuttering assistance before Brand could cut her off. "Pitcher of beer," she said, "something local. Two mugs."

The girl turned to register the order, but Henry stopped her. "Make that no mugs. Just water, for the both of us. And two menus, if you please." This time, a twitch of emotion registered on Brand's face. It was mutinous. "Alcohol is a vasodialator," Henry explained, saying it as fast as he could before she had the chance to put a word in edgewise. "You drink now and you won't be doing that black eye any favors." Turning back to the barmaid, he made a gesture for her to hurry along before Brand could protest.

Brand scowled and hiked up her shirt for a glimpse just as brief as the sight of her eyes, displaying for a moment the place she took a blast for him. Except for being a little pink, there were no marks. "I heal fast, stupid—another hour and you won't even know it was there." She waved her hand in the barmaid's direction without turning her face away from Henry. If this was a staring contest, he would lose. "Barmaid!"

Henry took the offending hand in his own and placed it flat against the table. Her entire hand fit into the crevice of his palm, and he kept it there. "You can debrief me here, without alcohol, and we can both enjoy a nice lunch, or we can go straight to your jet and leave," he offered. "I'd imagine that on a space station, you only get standards, am I right? Freeze-dried or the like. Visiting an on-world establishment like this one must be a treat, to get food freshly cooked and not ready to float off your plate at a moment's notice. But," he said, "if you're so hell-bent on hurting yourself, then I'm willing to forgo my last earthly meal and leave straight away. Which sounds better to you?"

He couldn't tell if her hint of a smile was fake or not. "How sweet, it almost sounds like you care." The rapid pulse of her trapped hand gave away the earnesty of her remark.

Henry felt a wash of guilt and released her. It was a long time since he had induced that kind of reaction in anyone. He couldn't remember the last time a woman chased him instead of the other way around. He wouldn't play mind games with her, make her think his interest was in anything more than business. He didn't even like her as a person. He folded his hands, growing painfully aware that she was staring at him. "So," he managed, using the menu as an excuse to avoid her gaze, "lunch?"

Brand's attitude towards eating closely resembled her attitude towards anything else—she was economical, to the point, and ruthless (or, Henry amended, as ruthless as one could be towards a steak dinner. As it turned out, that was pretty ruthless). Despite appearances, her manners were infinitely less refined than his. Which in a way was the whole point of his being there.

Licking the corner of her lip free of steak sauce as she spread the dossiers in front of him, Brand went through a long roster of alien diplomats, emissaries, and persons of interest with him, making sure to point out anything she thought important to the process of keeping them happy. In discussing the dossiers, her entire demeanor changed, dropping the stoicism in favor of real passion and enthusiasm. Whatever negative things he might think about her, Henry could never say she wasn't dedicated to her work.

He thumbed through one of the many manila folders, regarding its contents with something less than the excitement they held for Brand. "Enlighten me, is your file on me as large as some of the ones I'm seeing here?"

Brand smirked. "Larger. You're a public figure, easy to track. I know you down to your preferred brand of underwear."

"Wonderful," he sighed. He anticipated this, but didn't have to like it. He was an open book to her, but he would only be aided by his exceptional powers of deduction when it came to her and everyone else in the organization. He was at a disadvantage.

"Don't worry, though," Brand said in an attempt at being reassuring. "Your file's locked to anyone below my level of clearance—which is everyone." Henry did not feel comforted. She looked away before lowering her voice. "Shitty article, though."

"Article?" he echoed. Some deeper instinct recognized what she meant before he could consciously recognize it, and he felt a sting in his chest. He shouldn't have asked her to clarify. He didn't want to know.

"Yeah, the one about you and what's her face. Tina? Tammy? Something. Nasty thing to do. You're still human, looks are—"

He silenced her with a sudden, angry gesture that made his arms fly wider than the table. "Enough," he snapped. "That is none of your damned business!" His fangs were showing but he didn't care. "Honestly, what do you gain from even mentioning her?! On what planet is it acceptable to invade a person's privacy to attempt to manipulate them into—into—I don't even want to imagine the scenario you've conjured for yourself!" As he got louder, the rest of the bar got quieter. "What, you thought saying, 'oh, let me remind you how sorry I am that you got dumped in the most degrading way possible' would send me into some sort of fit? That I'd come looking for comfort? That you could save me?!" He stood at full height now, raised hackles straining the seams of his suit. "Look at you!" he roared. "You have no idea what it's like to be singled out and repeatedly humiliated because of something you can't control! To have people treat your difference like a disability, to know that every relationship you ever have will be in spite of this difference, never because of it—" Brand opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off. "No! I don't want to hear it! You can very kindly shut up for once!" He stopped and realized he was out of breath. He surveyed the bar until he caught the sight of his terrified waitress. "And I would like the check!"


	2. Chapter 2

Henry kept his eyes trained on the ghost of a moon hanging in the late afternoon sky. He and Brand had little to say to each other after their brief standoff as to how the check should be paid, but as they climbed into the uncomfortably cramped spacecraft cabin she commented that the Peak, S.W.O.R.D.'s space station, would be near aligned with the moon by the time they ascended. Brand had sunk back into her routine of unreadable stoicism, her reactions a mystery once more. Henry didn't much care. If this was the so-called compatibility Brand once insisted was there between them, he had an unpleasant time ahead of him. He should have just stayed at the mansion.

He shifted in his seat. The craft was made to seat two, but with the addition of the suitcase in his footwell he had little room. The recycled air smelled like her—sweat and leather—but not enough to imply she had been using the ship for very long. Her personal craft, he decided, probably seats one. Bored with searching the skies for the glitter of the Peak, Henry let his gaze wander over the control panels. For the most part, it looked brand new, but a corner covered in blinking lights and buttons near Brand's head was discolored. Henry put his hand out to touch it, making Brand duck under his elbow so she could still see the screens.

"You'd make a good door, but not a window," she said, her tone flat. Autopilot had engaged minutes ago—she was playing the helmsman for show. Any reason to stay quiet, avoid his gaze.

"Is this rust?" He pulled his hand back and inspected the smudge of red-brown that came away. Rolling it between his fingers, it felt more liquid than solid.

"It's blood."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Alien?"

"Mine. I told you, mild concussion."

Henry would have expected her to bleed green. "You really should let me have a look at you when we get to a decent facility."

Brand ventured a glimpse in his direction, or what Henry assumed was a glimpse from behind those cold glasses of hers. "I said I'll be fine. It'll smart for a while, but we have painkillers at home." Her mouth tensed in a half-smile half-grimace. "I'm surprised for the concern, though. After what happened back there, I thought you'd be happy to see me suffer a little."

"I'm a doctor."

"I won't take it personally, then." What Henry wouldn't give to be a psychic right now. She was playing games with him again, he was sure. Trying to appeal to his sympathy, manipulate him into forgiving her. He opened his mouth to reply, but she stopped him and pointed up. "See that bit of light, looks like a star?" He followed her gesture. A blue-white pinpoint was growing in the distance. "That's the Peak. Now that we have visual confirmation, I gotta radio the guys, let 'em know we're here. No more time to chat."

"Oh, and how I will miss the scintillating conversation we've enjoyed together," he said drily.

"It could've been worse, I could've sent Sydren to pick you up. Our resident psychic's more casually invasive than I could ever dream to be, and he takes about five minutes to spit out a single sentence. Threatens to eat people's heads a lot."

"The company you keep sounds as charming as yourself," Henry sighed. There was nowhere to wipe his bloody fingers on, which meant it would dry and turn to little flakes in his fur. He forgot to pack a towel.

Brand turned to him fully. "Look, you can keep insulting me or you can listen to what I have to say, and I don't think I'll have time or the privacy to say it once we get to the Peak." She ducked her head as she took off her glasses.

Henry held up his hands to stop her. "If you're trying to make a pass at me, I'm really not in the—"

"Shut up already! I crossed a line, back in the bar. I recognize that now. I'm not very good with people, all right? So sometimes what comes out of my mouth sounds a lot worse than it did in my head." Those eyes again, unblinking and ready to take anything he could dish out.

He lowered his hands, mouth hanging open slightly. "Am I hearing this correctly? Is Special Agent Brand apologizing to me? You didn't apologize for kidnapping the X-Men. You didn't apologize for putting everyone's lives in danger. You didn't even—"

She blinked, and looked away. The glasses went back on her face. "Yeah, well. I just wanted to say." She picked up the radio. "Peak, this is Special Agents Brand and McCoy, ready to initiate docking procedures in about a minute. We—oww!"

"Is everything all right?" The man on the other end didn't sound too concerned.

"Yeah, just a sec…." She put the radio down and batted Henry's hand away from her head. "—The hell are you doing!"

"Hold still, I want to see where you collided with the control panel. Head trauma can sometimes make people act strangely." He put his hands back on her head, parting her hair to better search her scalp.

"You think I said all that because I hit my head?!"

"It crossed my mind."

Brand fumed. "You know, for a genius you're pretty clueless. You can't possibly think of any other reason why I might admit I was wrong, just to you? Not one?" By angling her face up at him, she was able to draw herself uncomfortably close. But she didn't make her move. She just stared at him from behind her green lenses, waiting for him to either press forward or back off.

He did the latter. "I can't check everything without the proper equipment anyway," he mumbled, looking away and out the window.

Brand stared after him, a shade of disappointment surfacing from under the stoicism. "I'll be sure to include that on the grand tour, then," she sighed, and picked the radio back up. "Let's dock."

As they made their way deeper into the Peak, winding in a vaguely circular pattern to go from the ship bays on the outside to the command centers housed within, Henry felt distinctly uncomfortable. Everywhere they went, the people in uniform would pause to watch them pass. Or more specifically, to watch him pass. He hadn't been so heavily scrutinized in a long time.

"You know," he muttered, keeping his voice just low enough that no one but Brand would hear him, "for a station full of aliens, I'm sure getting a lot of stares."

Brand looked around. Every time she caught the gaze of an onlooker, they seemed to come unstuck and went back to their work. "You're new, and high-ranking for someone without previous experience here. Jealousy can be catching."

"Hmm. They seem perfectly fine sizing me up, but I've noticed they don't look at you at all."

She pursed her mouth. "I'm old news." Catching sight of a hairless gray man leaning over the bridge to get a better look at Henry, she said, "I'll show you why no one wants to be caught not working by me." Stalking over in the direction of the bridge, she shouted up at the man in an unrecognizable tongue, startling him. She and he snapped at each other, moving in and out between alien and English so that Henry could catch little snatches of phrase, but not enough to understand what was going on. By the time the conversation ended, though, Henry was sure they were swearing at each other. Brand sent the man on his way and turned back in the direction they had been heading, her face a shade pinker than it had been.

"What did that man say?" Either the man said something very offensive, or Brand was easier to piss off than he thought. He wasn't sure which option he would rather have.

Brand shook her head. "Nothing important, just… nevermind. Don't waste your time with people like him anyway."

Henry frowned. "You bring me into this operation, you say we're going to be working together, then you keep things from me. Is this how I should expect the rest of my time here to play out?"

"Can it at least wait until we're not in front of half my crew to talk about it?" Her voice was strained.

Henry searched his mind to guess what could be bad or embarrassing enough that they should only talk about it in private. Either way, the lack of respect Brand's crew had for her was appalling. She seemed to inspire that in people.

As they passed through yet another room dedicated to hundreds of monitors, a reddish alien resembling a lizard stood and blocked their way. "Ssspecial Agent Brand." While he addressed her, his eyes were on Henry. Sizing him up.

"Special Agent Sydren," she replied. To Henry, she said, "This is the one I told you about, says he'll eat people's heads."

Sydren's mouth opened in a gross approximation of a smile. "Only yoursss, Brand. Thisss is McCoy, I asssume? I didn't realizsse he would be arriving ssso early in the week."

Brand took a step forward, crossing her arms. Now she was a buffer between the two men. "You know the drill, Sydren. Takes a while for people to get acclimated to their surroundings, used to our policies. I figured a couple days would be all the professor needed. How long did it take you before you went on your first mission? About a month, right?" Henry tried to make a sorry expression at Sydren. This woman wasn't winning him any friends.

Sydren scowled. "He mussst be exssceptionally competent."

An eyebrow twitched from behind her glasses. "You trying to imply something?"

"Awfully paranoid of you, Brand, to asssume sssuch a thing. What could I posssibly mean?"

Brand took another step forward. She was good at getting in people's personal space. "I hope for your sake I am just being paranoid. You gonna let us through now?"

Sydren moved to the side. "Of courssse." He nodded his head in Henry's direction. "Welcome to SSSWORD, Agent McCoy."

Brand pointed to a door at the far end of the hall. "Your lodgings. Doesn't need a key—it opens when you type the code into the keypad. Yours is 24601." She stepped aside so Henry could try.

He tapped the digits in with one claw. "That's Jon Valjean's number in Les Miserables. Was that—"

She gave a little shrug as the door swung open. "I'm not a total philistine." She stepped in, uninvited, to take a look around the dorm. It had all the charm of a hotel room. She peered in the room adjoining it. "Well, my bathroom's a little bigger, but that looks like the only—" Henry shut and locked the door behind them. Seeing his hand on the lock, the corners of her mouth turned upwards. "Change of heart? We could go to my room…."

Henry slapped one hand against the wall, then the other, trapping her. "Answers," he growled. "You haven't been straight with me all day, and there's something going on between you and your crew. If you expect me to work with you, then—why the hell are you grinning like that!"

Brand let out an odd sound that Henry refused to believe was a laugh. "You're completely right, you deserve answers. But I'm not going to be able to give them to you like this."

"Why not?"

She did her best to stifle her smile. "Kind of hard to concentrate with you all up on me like this. Alone. The door locked—"

Henry released her and she sat on the bed. There were two chairs and a table she could have as easily sat at. He put a hand to his head—any more aggravation and he would get a migraine. "Please, just tell me that I came off as a little bit intimidating. I think I'm losing my edge."

Brand composed herself, but there was still a note of playfulness in her voice. "Oh no, you were very scary. You could have eaten me up." Henry groaned. "But where were we? Oh yeah, answers." She pointed to the buearu across the room. "Open that. Top drawer on the right."

Henry did as told, withdrawing two folders from the drawer. While they were both thick with papers, one was double the size of the other. He placed each on the little table, pointedly taking a seat in one of the chairs instead of next to her on the bed. "More dossiers?"

"Check the names on the tabs."

Turning the folders upright, he recognized the names immediately. One read McCoy, Henry. The thicker one was Brand, Abigail. "Why…?"

"I wanted you to have the hard copy of your own file. Think of it as a show of good faith that I haven't given it to anyone else. If you're worried about privacy… here." She tossed him a small cylindrical object, which he snatched out of midair. Opening his hand to inspect it more closely, he saw it was a lighter. "Burn it."

Henry was sorely tempted. "Won't someone notice it's missing?"

"The records-keeping staff is more concerned with the files on our alien visitors, not the people who work here. I could replace it with a fake, they'd never notice. Like I said, the only person even allowed access to your file is me."

Henry flipped through his folder. There were a lot of photos. Of him, of the X-Men… of Trish. He put it down, and covered it with the larger file. Out of sight, out of mind—he hoped. He was hesitant to open Brand's file. "Thank you… I suppose… for the gesture. I'll dispose of it. But why did you give me your file?"

"Fair's fair—I looked at yours, you can look at mine. There's several disc's worth of grievances filed by my staff, might help you understand why they dislike me so much."

Henry was doubtful—she was avoiding his question again. "Will I find why they don't like me in here, too?"

Brand took off her glasses to polish them on the bottom of her shirt. "Favoritism."

"And is it?"

She looked up from what she was doing. Even across the room, she emanated exhaustion. "You tell me. Do I treat you differently than I treat them?"

Henry put a hand to his chin. "Do they know of your… unique interest in me?"

Brand studied herself in the reflection of her glasses. "Sydren picked it up pretty quick. Thought it was hilarious. He's got loose lips."

"Great. So they think we're…." He massaged his forehead. The migraine was coming on with a vengance.

"Actually, by now Sydren's probably telling everyone how you keep shooting me down. He may not have been very welcoming, but I'm sure he'll like you much more after that."

"…Oh."

"Which is what confuses me." Brand got up and came over to the table, sitting in the chair across from him. "I'm trying to let you take your time, draw your own conclusions on this. But you seem so dead-set in believing that you're some sort of undesirable monster, that no one could possibly like you for being exactly who you are." She spread her arms. "But here I am, telling you how completely wrong you are! Do you think I'm delusional or something?"

Henry put his head in his hand. "No, but I wouldn't trust your judgment either. You've made poor decisions before."

Brand let out an angry huff of air through her nose. "If we're going to work together, I need you to trust me. And you can start by trusting me on this. Do I really need to list all of the reasons I think you're great?" She spread her hands, a shade of desperation coming into her voice. "Look, I know we don't get along a hundred percent of the time. We can work on that. But think this through logically, Hank. I'm not perfect, but I could be there for you. You don't have to love me, all I'm asking for is like."

"I'd be taking advantage of you."

"Great! So take advantage of me! I'm game!"

"Brand—"

She raised her eyebrows. Was she pleading with him? She couldn't be. "At least call me Abigail."

"Abigail… this isn't going to work. I have a bad track record…."

"So do I!" She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. "At least look at it this way—haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to be with a woman and not have to worry about breaking her? You've only ever been with human women. But if you're half the animal your X-Man name implies, wouldn't you like to cut loose once in a while?"

Henry stood up, at the end of his patience. "I think it's time for you to leave." He picked her up by the shoulders, marching her towards the door.

She struggled in his grip to try and turn towards him. "Don't do this. Don't shut me out."

"I never invited you in." He opened the door. "I appreciate the effort and all, I really do. But it's not you, it's me." He cringed. That was a line he swore he'd never use. Finally, they were separated by the doorway. He dropped his hands from her shoulders. Brand wouldn't look him in the eye. "Good night, Abigail. I'll see you in the morning."

"Won't you be lonely?" Her voice was small. The shields went up around her again—whatever she was feeling, she was internalizing it.

"Yes, but I've made peace with that. You should consider doing the same." He put his hand on the doorknob to close it.

Brand put her hand on the door to stop him. "One more thing."

Henry sighed. "I'm really not in the mood to continue this argument into the night."

She tilted her head as if she was looking up at him, but her eyes were cast to the side. "There's something I meant to—it's under your bed."

"I'll be sure to check on it first thing in the morning. Good night." He closed the door in her face. It took a while before the sound of her footsteps disappeared down the hall and he could relax. Turning his back on the door, he surveyed the room once again. Yes, it was lonely. But he'd been lonely for a while now.

He picked his suitcase off the floor and opened it on the bed. He should have asked about getting an iron and ironing board. As he pawed through the few things he brought with him, his foot brushed something on the floor. Lifting up the bedsheet to get a better look at what lay underneath, he pulled a long cardboard box out. Was this what she was talking about? He opened one end to see flat black plastic, and knew immediately what it was. He slid the contents out of the box and onto the bed to get a better look.

It was a keyboard. Had she done this? Considering the reactions of the rest of the crew to his presence, it must have been her. He laid his hands across the keys, which were small for his fingers. The last time he played piano, he had ten fingers, not eight. He sat cross-legged on the bed and closed his eyes, letting the muscle memory take over as he picked out a soundless melody on the unplugged keyboard. He played into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

It was always night in space. The thought only occurred to Henry as he woke up, sensing blurrily that he overslept. Even if there had been windows in his room, he wouldn't have the sun to wake him, or the rolling hills below the mansion to greet him out his old window. He rubbed his eyes and checked the bedside clock. Two hours past when he said he'd be in the S.W.O.R.D. control room to learn the ropes. Why didn't Brand send him a call? Did his refusal of her passes make her avoid him completely? Henry shook the thought from his head—she wasn't like that.

He picked up yesterday's pants from where they hung on the back of a chair, fishing out his S.W.O.R.D.-issue mobile phone. He scrolled through the pre-loaded list of contacts. Brand's name was near the top. It rang five times before she picked up. "Br—Abigail? Is something going on? Why didn't you call me when I was late?"

Her tone was curt. "Something came up. Thought you'd appreciate a little extra beauty sleep."

He wondered if he would have time to shower. He peeked his head into his bathroom, and was disappointed by what he saw. The shower stall was tiny—he wouldn't be able to move. "What happened?"

"Let's meet somewhere and I could explain. How about the medbay? I haven't shown you around there yet."

Henry cleared his throat. "Actually… how big is your shower?" He waited for her to turn it into something lewd, but nothing came. "I'm not—I mean—it's just—"

"Yeah, I get it." Her tone was even more brittle than before. "I'll get you some towels."

Her door was open when he arrived, but Henry still felt compelled to knock. "Come in." Brand sat on her bed with her back to him, taking off her kneepads and boots. She was right about the size of the rooms—in fact, hers was identical to his. For someone who rose through the ranks of S.W.O.R.D. to the top, who must have spent years there, the room was strangely depersonalized. She didn't look up from what she was doing, but pointed to the end of the bed. "You can bring those towels back to your room when you're done with the shower. They're yours now."

"Thanks." He picked them up, but couldn't help glancing out the sides of his eyes to see that the lines under Brand's eyes had deepened. "You didn't happen to get any sleep last night, did you."

She swung her legs up on the bed and leaned against the headboard, closing her eyes. "There was a scuffle down in customs, an alien freaked out when we found contraband on his ship. Set off a minor bioweapon and holed himself up in the brig."

"You should have called me. What happened?"

Brand shook her head. "You're not officially part of the team yet. I'm not putting you in danger until you know what you're doing."

"I'm an X-Man! I've handled these kinds of situations before!"

Brand opened her eyes to fix him with a tired stare. "You signed on to work under me. I made the decision not to bring you in this time. Deal with it."

Henry gritted his teeth. "Next time…."

"Yeah, maybe next time." She picked up a box from her bedside stand and offered it to him.

He took it from her and opened it, revealing two syringes. "You made it sound like the bioweapon was contained."

Brand fiddled with the zipper at her back. "It was, but we're not taking any chances." She bared a shoulder. Seeing the look on his face, she rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not about to throw myself at you. I'm good with guns, but not needles." Henry took a syringe out of the box, considering. "So would you be a gentleman and inoculate me?"

He sat on the bed beside her and opened one of the single squares of alcohol from its sterile wrapper. Peeling her uniform a little farther down her shoulder, he swabbed, then stopped. His fingers pried at the sleeve, curious. "Who's Anna?"

Brand's lips tightened, and her fingers fought with his to pull the sleeve back up over her tattoo. "It's personal."

Henry nodded knowingly. "And I assume if I'd asked last night, you would have told me." He readied the needle. "You're going to feel a pinch."

Brand's eyes met his. Behind the exhaustion was a mingling of emotions that just barely registered. Disappointment. Hurt. And… trust. "If you were in a position to see me with enough of my clothes off that you could see my tattoos? Yeah, maybe I would've been in a more sharing mood."

He inserted the needle. Brand didn't blink. "You have more than one?"

Brand raised her eyebrows. Taunting. "You'll never know, will you."

He withdrew the needle. "I suppose I could always look it up in your file."

"What a boring way of finding out."

Henry frowned at her shoulder as he applied a band-aid. "Abigail, I understand that what I said was not what you wanted. You've had about ten hours to mull it over now, and I'm sure the lack of sleep combined with yesterday's concussion isn't helping your mood. But it takes two willing parties to make something like that work, and I'm just not comfortable with… not with you, but with…." Thinking about it now, he couldn't come up with a legitimate reason to resist her so strongly. "I'm just not comfortable." He helped her back into her uniform. "But I would like it if we could be friends." He put the syringe back in the box and went to pat her knee consolingly, but stopped. Would she take it the wrong way? He thought he was being very clear about how he felt… still, he had to be so careful around her. "I agree with what you said about us working as a team. Would I have joined you at S.W.O.R.D. if I didn't enjoy being around you?" His words and his thoughts did not match up. The eighteen hours he had been at S.W.O.R.D. had been uncomfortable and, at times, embarrassing. He and Brand fought over every little thing. Yet there was a sincerity in his words that he found even himself believing. Maybe it wasn't all bad.

"Sure," Brand said. What little energy she had left was gone from her voice. "Friends."

She looked so small, then, with her head turned and her hands uselessly in her lap. Surrounded by a room that was no more of a home to her than the day she moved in. The silence was suffocating. Did she even have any other friends? Considering the way she and her crew treated each other, probably not. So then it was just him that all of the responsibility fell on, the man she invited into her organization expecting to become her lover, but who instead held her at arm's length for reasons that even he could not put into words.

He stood up, taking the towels with him. He couldn't sit there, watching her close in on herself, seeing the doubt and self-consciousness he inflicted on her, the same feelings he went through every day. "I think I'm going to shower now." He hated himself for saying it. If being friends wasn't just an excuse to get her off his back about being more than friends, he would have stayed to comfort her, talk her through it. "Do you have—"

"You can lock the door if you think I'm still going to come after you." Her voice became more controlled as she spoke. The emotions disappeared out of her eyes. She was back to business as usual.

"That's not what I was going to ask." It was, however, what he was thinking. He felt sheepish for even considering it. "I just wanted to know if you had any extra shampoo. I tend to use a lot of it."

"I'll make sure we order it in bulk from now on." She went to a drawer and withdrew a black tank top. "Why don't you get that bathroom door between us so I can change?"

Henry nodded. He had dismissed her, now she was dismissing him. It didn't feel right when it was the other way around, though. "Are you sure you don't want to talk?"

She regarded him coolly. "About what?"

Henry opened his mouth, but couldn't find the right words. For someone as eloquent as himself, this was a great failing. "I just thought... I mean, I know this must be difficult for you."

"Oh, please." Revulsion crossed her features. That was an expression he was used to seeing on women. "You're not the last man on Earth, McCoy. Or off it." She picked out a pair of pants. "I'm a big girl. I can handle it." She turned her back on him, spreading the clothes out on her bed.

Henry closed the bathroom door behind him, clutching the towels to his chest. The guilt came in waves, strengthening every time he allowed himself to form thoughts. He looked to the mirror to try and get a better sense of himself, only to find the door of the medicine cabinet to be opaque. He thought back to Brand's room—identical to his own, except for the bureau. His had a large mirror over it, but hers… had she dismantled that, too? Stepping into the much roomier bathtub and letting the water rain onto his fur until he could feel it seep into the skin beneath, he distracted himself from his guilt by pondering the mystery of the mirrors. She certainly did well without them, but even if she didn't need a mirror to keep her looks appealing, why go to the effort of dismantling them?

Shower finished, Henry left the bathroom with the intention of asking her about the missing mirrors. At first he didn't see her—had she left the room?—but then spotted an arm protruding from the pile of blankets on her bed. Walking around to the bedside stand to retrieve his own syringe, he ventured a glance in her direction. Her breathing was slow and even. Fast asleep. He would ask her about the mirrors later.

He studied her face. Even sleeping, the deep lines of concern etched themselves into her brow and under her eyes. The pull of the subconscious meant she couldn't shroud her emotions; he could see shadows of stress and anger pass across her expression, anchored by a deep undercurrent of sorrow. Guilt welled into his stomach. Was he the cause of all that turmoil? She rolled over, turning her back to him and exposing the delicate hairs at the nape of her neck. He could see a second tattoo, the companion to the one on her arm that read ANNA—this one said GRACE. Henry wondered if these were the names of people who had affected Brand's life so deeply that she got the tattoos as a tribute. If he had submitted to her advances and things worked out between them, would she get a tattoo of his name as well?

Sensing he overstayed his welcome, Henry returned to his own room and got to work on the files she gave him. His first priority was to gut his own file, but he found himself flipping through the papers and pictures with nostalgia. There were accounts of his first days as an X-Man, photos of him back when his hair was still brown, a disc of the archived scientific papers he wrote… it was all there. And the girls. He was stunned by how many women he had forced himself to forget. Vera and Linda… how long was it since either had crossed his mind? Of course, the majority of the women in the photographs were accompanied by a version of himself who was neither blue nor furred. The only woman who showed interest in him after that development was Trish—but no, he corrected himself, she was no longer the only woman. He wondered how closely Brand studied his past affairs, what she thought of the women he once loved. His gaze wandered to the other file. Was there just as much intimate information on her?

Opening the folder to the first page, he found a rundown of the first eighteen years of Brand's life. He was surprised by her birthdate—she was younger than him, only 28. He thought for sure she was older. Born in South Jersey to a single mother; no father's name was listed on the copy of her birth certificate. There was a photo of a sullen girl with a green crewcut sitting on the steps of a trailer, trash littered in the dust at her feet. A woman stood behind her in the open doorway, identical to the Brand of today except in hair color. They both wore ill-fitting clothes that were mended several times over. Though the older woman looked down at her daughter with affection, the younger Brand hardly took notice. She was alone even back then.

Henry turned the photo over to check the date against Brand's early-life resume. She would have been seventeen in the photo, which meant it was taken just before she was recruited by S.W.O.R.D. Going through the long list of schools she attended, some for no more than a couple months, Henry wondered what caught S.W.O.R.D.'s eye about her. From the report on her early life, she was completely unremarkable if not a problem child. Was her sole reason for recruitment her alien heritage? He flipped through a few more papers. As soon as she joined S.W.O.R.D., it seemed, Brand shaped up into the perfect operative. There were pages and pages of commendations and awards from her superiors, echoing her competence in the field and saying how far she would go. But nothing about friends. There were, however, lists of trips she made to other star systems. Factoring in the travel time, they were all very short—the longest had her staying on-planet for a week. The shortest was under twelve hours. Henry couldn't imagine Brand making a good ambassador, even then. He shrugged it off as sight-seeing.

There were other photos, many of them with Brand and other aliens. In a few she wore a plain black dress—Henry was amused, he didn't think she owned any dresses—and a drinks bar could be seen in the background. They must have been taken at the annual dinner party for ambassadors that the Peak played host to. As Brand had informed him when he first agreed to work with her, the next one would be taking place at the end of the week. As she explained it, there would be many aliens who knew of the Breakworld and would be curious about the recent troubles there. Brand was not the people person that Henry was, and needed someone more courteous than herself to explain what happened. Looking closer at the dinner party photos, Brand did not seem to have any trouble communicating with the aliens she spoke to. Several of the photos made it look like she was having intense one-on-one conversations with the visitors, and in about three of those she had a predatory gleam in her eyes that he recognized. Frowning, he checked the back of the photos, then the list of planets she visited. Out of the three photos he singled out, she had visited two of the home planets of the aliens to whom she spoke with such interest. He swallowed hard. Working with aliens was one thing, but the thought of her approaching them with the same propositions she offered him…. He tried to clear his head of the images that were forming. It was none of his business. She was half-alien, after all, so what right did he have to assume that her tastes ran towards mankind? Still, something about it disturbed him. Did S.W.O.R.D. pressure her into playing the perfect hostess down to offering her ambassadors the novelty of being with a human, or was it her own decision? He put the photos down and closed the file with a heavy hand. He was getting entirely too invested in something he didn't know for sure.

"You turned her down," he reminded himself. "You don't have a right to ask about any of that now."


	4. Chapter 4

The S.W.O.R.D. comic book is coming out this Wednesday! Show your support and buy a copy!

* * *

The infinite depth of the stars as they stretched out from the reinforced windows on the Peak gave Henry a sense of vertigo if he stared for too long. Spanning the entire wall of the corridor and curved slightly outward, when Henry came close enough that the starfield closed in on his periphery, he was overcome with a sense of falling. He touched the window to ground himself.

Even here, it was hard to get his mind on the present. The lure of solving the mysteries surrounding Brand kept him locked in his own mind, reviewing what he knew about her over and over. If giving him a series of riddles about her personal life to unravel was a part of Brand's plans to keep him interested in her… but no, she backed off when he told her so. Keeping secrets was a part of who she was, which made Henry feel better. If encouraging him to figure her out was a move on Brand's part to get him in bed, Henry would have a much harder time resisting.

He frowned. His mind was going places he didn't give it permission to think about. He needed another distraction. Eyeing the corridor, he noticed a sign to the side of a stairwell, announcing that the cafeteria was directly below where he stood now. His stomach cramped with hunger, remembering that the last time he ate was yesterday. Imagining pre-packaged astronaut food made him wish he thought far enough ahead to bring leftovers from the bar.

Sniffing the air, Henry was greeted with a pleasant surprise—the smell of cooking food. He took the stairs two or three at once, all thoughts extinguished by the possibility of good food. Bursting into the cafeteria through the double doors at the bottom of the stairwell, he was immediately drawn to the serving tables, where every food imaginable, from Earth and elsewhere, stewed under heat lamps. He grabbed a plate and went to work on heaping it with a little bit of everything. He made a special effort to include foods of alien origins on his dish, deciding he would be a philistine to limit himself to solely human foods. Cooking was an art, after all.

Once he was satisfied by his selection, Henry scanned the cafeteria tables for a place to sit. A sense of uneasiness struck him—he may have kept to himself in the X-Mansion lab, but he was never unpopular. Here, there were clearly defined social groups, and Brand did a good job of making sure he didn't fit in anywhere but with her. He spotted a half-empty table and approached the seat at the far end, but the interest in the eyes of the people on the other side encouraged him to sit among them. Might as well start making up for the damage Brand did to his reputation as soon as possible.

He offered his hand to the first person who met his gaze. "Hello," he said, trying to keep his tone light and friendly. Years of new students at the academy made him used to introductions, but that was a situation where he was in a position of clear authority. "I'm new here, and I don't believe we've met. My name is—"

"McCoy, right?" The man he spoke took Henry's hand in his own, pumping it with amusement. "Saw you come through the map room yesterday. I've heard a lot about you."

"Oh, God," Henry sighed, withdrawing his hand and adjusting his glasses. "Whatever you may hear, I can assure you of its falsehood. I'm not that kind of person."

The man grinned at his companions. "Actually, I meant the fact that we have a genuine superhero joining the team. But if you really want to talk about the other rumors…."

Tension eased itself from Henry's shoulders and he allowed himself a smile. "I've quite had my fill of hearing what latest stories are being told about me," he admitted. "But I don't believe I caught your names…."

"I'm Johnson," the man replied. Pointing to the woman next to him, he said, "This is Brown. Our friend over here," he said, indicating the alien who sat across from Henry, who had skin like an otter, "doesn't have a name we can pronounce, so we just call him Smith."

"Pleased to meet all of you. I…." He stopped when he saw they were staring. He checked the fur around his mouth; he didn't have anything on his face, so what was—

"McCoy. Your presssence isss required."

The cheeriness Henry fooled himself into thinking had formed between him and his new companions evaporated with the appearance of Sydren. He turned to grudgingly face the red alien. "I haven't even had my first bite," he sighed, indicating his full plate. "This could wait fifteen more minutes."

"You're living on the Peak for a reassson," Sydren retored. "If you exssspected time to yourssself, you ssshould have requesssted to live on our ground bassse."

"Let me get a container for this, at least." He gave his acquaintances a sorry glance. "Could I fool myself into hoping we'll have time to talk later?"

Johnson nodded. "We'll be here. Have fun!"

Sydren had a quick stride that Henry found hard to match. Considering the ease with which he moved, Henry guessed that Sydren's homeworld either had a denser atmosphere or stronger gravity.

"Actually," Sydren said, head forward like he was speaking to the air in front of him, "my people are sssemi-aquatic. It'sss much easssier to move around when you're not waissst-deep in water."

Right, Henry reminded himself. Psychic.

"'Empath' would be a better term to ussse," Sydren corrected him. "I sssense thingsss, I don't read mindsss." Henry sent an annoyed thought his way, and Sydren shook his head. "I don't hate you, McCoy. I jussst believe our illussstrious director made a missstake to hire from outssside Sss.W.O.R.D. rather than promote sssomeone internally. Nothing persssonal."

"Forgive me if I take your words with a grain of salt. You two don't exactly get along."

"No, we don't," Sydren agreed, "but we ssstill work well together. The sssame could be sssaid of you." He smirked. "Ssshe can be a bitch, but ssshe's very professsional."

Henry's annoyance rose. "She may be a touch disagreeable, but with the way you and the rest of the crew act, she's in good company."

Sydren shook his head in amusement. "You have no need to defend her actionsss. Jussst because you've entertained the sssame thoughtsss about her that go through the headsss of half the crew—"

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," Henry sputtered. "I find this topic of conversation highly inappropriate!"

Sydren snickered. "Of courssse you do. The funny thing isss, while ssshe may be on the thoughts of every human male on the Peak, you are the firssst who hasss a chancssse with her. Or, ssshould I sssay, had."

Henry's mind went back to the pictures of Brand with the aliens. "What—"

Sydren interrupted him by opening a door at the end of the hall. "Here we are. Map room." He motioned for Henry to enter.

Brand leaned over a computer display, all attention in the room focused on her next move. She was still in her tank top and dark pants, and her tousled hair brushed her shoulders. For her to be in the middle of a meeting now meant she could not have gotten more than an hour of sleep. The bruise on her cheek and eyebrow was gone, but purple shadows deepened the circles under her eyes.

She looked up, and hardly glanced over Sydren before locking on Henry. Even as she kept her gaze set on him, her face erased itself of any emotion. It was like watching an invisible artist erase any shadows or character lines that might give her away. "What's he doing here?"

The sly flicker of Sydren's yellow eyes going back and forth was enough to tip Henry off that something was not right. "He'sss a part of the team now, isssn't he? He ssshould be here when sssomething comesss up."

A muscle twitched in Brand's jaw. She looked at him, but her focus was elsewhere, internal. Henry was the first to avert his gaze and it snapped her out of her thoughts. "Fine," she said, turning back to the monitor. "Recognize these guys?"

Henry winced at the display of twisted, skeletal creatures. "Phalanx." That brought back memories.

She nodded, face still turned to the screen. The curve of her cheek was outlined in light, almost invisible, but he swore he saw a green eye flicker in his direction. "Been following this group for the better part of a year. It's mostly cut and dry monitoring. We've been trying to trace this group to the source of their techno-organic infection. But recently they've been working on something new—an airborne pathogen. Set it off in a crowded city and you'll have millions of new Phalanx by the next day."

"Why have you been waiting to take them down?" Henry demanded. "If they're as much of a threat as you say, then how can you content yourselves with just watching?"

Brand turned and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. Her demeanor was not as calm as her face. "Do you have any idea how big space is, professor? Maybe you think it's easy to chase small fry around the solar system, let alone the galaxy." Her tone was venomous. "In the big leagues, McCoy, every problem we deal with directly is a matter of planetary safety. That's why we often can't catch the smaller threats until they balloon into big ones." She turned to glare at him full-force. "Got any other brilliant suggestions about how I should run the show?"

The force of her gaze set him back a step. The fury in her eyes, he knew, wasn't just a reaction to his latest comment, but the result of the slow build-up that began as soon as she arrived in the bar yesterday. He arranged his expression so he looked more deferential than defiant. "All right, what are we going to do about it?"

"We," she said, indicating Sydren, herself, and a couple other men, "are going to locate and visit the headquarters where they've developed this stuff and do a little housecleaning. You," she continued, pointing to Henry, "are going to watch."

"Brand—"

"No. You are still officially in your 'training' period. I can't have a liability on a mission."

Ignoring her anger in favor of some of his own, Henry stepped forward, coming nearly chest-to-chest with her. He was maybe six inches taller than her, but he was much larger, and used it to his advantage as he tried to loom. "I have never been a liability to you! Every time we've partnered up, I've always been a benefit! I'm a trained X-Man, a scientist of highest caliber, and I'm what you told me you needed—someone to question you! That's what I'm doing now, isn't it?"

Getting close to Brand made him realize how much heat she gave off. Whether it was her anger or her temperature, she was—literally—very hot. With the heat of her gaze focused directly on him, Henry remembered too late that he would never win a staring contest with her. He was intense, but she surpassed him easily. Out of the corner of his eyes, Henry could see the tips of her hair tremble with fury. If he kept staring, would she kill him? Or kiss him?

"I feel I mussst agree with Dr. McCoy," Sydren interjected, breaking the tension. They both blinked. "Having a ssscientist on our team would be… handy."

Brand shot Sydren a look of loathing. "I guess I'm outnumbered, then. Welcome to the team, McCoy. Grab a suit and let's go."

Exiting the changing room wearing his new S.W.O.R.D. issued uniform-slash-spacesuit, Henry headed to the shuttle bay. Brand and her crew gathered near a five-man craft. Feeling apologetic, Henry turned to her as they loaded in. "What do you think?" he asked, keeping his tone light.

Brand barely glanced his way before getting into her seat. A moment passed as the engine revved before she grunted, "S'better than your X-uniform."

Henry brightened. He didn't want her to hate him. "And why, pray tell, is that? I was always quite fond of the superhero costumes."

Brand shrugged, looking sourly out the cockpit window as the ship left the bay. "Never saw the appeal of running around in my underwear."

"I never—"

"Oh yes you did!" She jabbed a finger in his direction, but her anger was a touch amused. "You wore your little black man-panties with an X on them for years! What the hell possessed you to think that was flattering?!"

Sydren and one of the men tittered to themselves and Henry felt the corners of his mouth turn. "Oh come now, you've seen how hairy I am!" He put his hand over hers to prove it. "Any clothes this covering become impossibly hot."

Her passive expression became less forced and she turned her hand upwards so her fingers brushed his. "Hairy palms."

He grinned. "Only one girlfriend since I turned blue." He patted her hand, fingers momentarily entwining. Her hand closed and jumped into her lap. She looked away. His smile disappeared—he thought he was getting somewhere. "Abigail…."

She pointed to a screen. "Ceres." Her tone became stiff as she addressed the rest of the cabin. "Largest asteroid in the belt, and this is where the intel says they're developing the pathogen." She reached under her seat, withdrawing a black case. She opened it, revealing a set of shapes embedded in foam. She assembled them into a gun and offered it to Henry.

He took it after some prompting. "I don't normally use these… and where would I put it?"

Brand pushed her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose so she could better inspect Henry's belt. "It's the holster on your—oh, you put it on wrong." Henry tugged on his belt uselessly as she leaned over, turning the holster around on its loop. "Stop squirming."

"I think I put the whole utility belt on wrong."

Her hands slapped his out of the way as they climbed to his middle to readjust the buckle. "Yes, you did. If you'd just hold still…." It clicked. "There." She slid the gun into its holster, which now sat snug against Henry's hip.

He checked the status of his utility belt, finding that it was indeed properly fitted. When Henry turned back to Brand, he found her assembling an even bigger gun. "Is that one also for me?"

"No," Brand said, snapping the final piece into place, "it's for me."

"Incoming on the Ceres base," one of Brand's men announced.

"You boys ready?" Brand asked, snapping together a second gun. "Just destroying their equipment will only set them back a couple months. We need to take out anyone that looks like they're in charge, but leave a couple alive so we can see if they return to the source of their infection."

The craft swept into an empty bay, the doors closing behind it. Sydren checked something on his monitor. "Air presssure isss Earth normal."

Brand unstrapped herself from the seat. "Good. Try not to hit any of the life support systems while we're in there and this'll be a breeze." She shot Henry a glance. "Think you can work the buckles on the seatbelt, or do I have to do that for you too?"

"Ha, ha," he grumbled.

The doors on either side of the cockpit hissed open. "I sssense sssomething very wrong," Sydren murmured, opening a door with care. He swiveled his head to either side, looking over the docking bay with a trained eye.

"Then we proceed with caution," Brand replied. "And that's official. If any of you die, it's not my fault."

"How comforting."

"Shut it, McCoy. The moment we're out the door, I don't want to hear a word. We're ghosts." The two other men whispered something between themselves. "That goes the same for you," Brand snapped. She wore a gun on either hip and held a third in her hand.

"I don't underssstand," Sydren muttered. "They're here, yesss, but they're hard to pinpoint… they're all… waiting for sssomething…."

"Then let's make sure that something doesn't happen." Looking around at her team one more time, Brand set her jaw and opened the door fully. She signaled for them to wait as she snuck around the side of the ship, taking cover behind a stack of crates. They followed her, footsteps echoing eerily throughout the bay. When they were all gathered near the entrance to the base, Brand checked in with Sydren. "What's their positions?" she hissed.

"The onesss we're after are in the ssscience lab. There are few othersss on bassse right now," Sydren whispered back.

"Good enough. Can you navigate?"

Sydren nodded and straightened from behind a wall, using his long neck to peer into the corridor. "Follow me." Guns drawn, they made their way down the empty hallway towards a set of glass double-doors. Sydren motioned to the doors and stalked towards them.

"You said this was a Phalanx base," Henry muttered. Brand shushed him. "If this is a Phalanx base," he continued, "then where are all the Phalanx? From what I remember, it's not a solitary operation."

Sydren slipped through the doors. "He's right," one of the other men agreed. "Phalanx are normally crawling all over the place."

"Maybe," Brand suggested, a tone of annoyance in her voice, "they're waiting for some idiot to talk loudly enough to get noticed. Then they can take our bodies and—"

Sydren made a noise and took two steps backward before falling to his side. Three armed guards rushed out of the lab, firing wildly. "Ambusssh!"

Brand swore. In a flurry of movement, she and her men scattered, finding safe places to shoot from. Henry, caught off-guard, was the only one remaining in the middle of the corridor. The guards advanced and he tried to fire at them, only to remember that he was a terrible shot. He dropped his gun. "I need cover fire!" he called, charging the guards.

Brand ran out of the doorway she used as cover and into the middle of the hall, sending a hail of shots on all sides of him. "This is not the way we do things!" she shouted.

Henry swiped at one of the two remaining guards and came away with a handful of machinery. The guard backed away, turning on his heel to run, but Henry tackled him to the ground. With a twist and a pull, he ripped the Phalanx's head off its shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the other guard move, then—

Something seared across his chest and shoulder, blindingly painful. Henry roared and fell backwards, clutching at the tatters of his uniform. He could see his heartbeat on the backs of his eyes, and with every pulse his uniform got wetter. Darkness tunneled his vision, but he saw the last guard fall. There was a rush of legs that passed by him.

"Don't let them smash the—! Respirators on! Now, now, now!" A plastic mask was shoved roughly onto his face, then secured in the back. He blinked, his sight clearing momentarily, and saw Brand's men put a respirator to Sydren's face. Brand took something small and round from one of the pouches on her belt and threw it into the lab, throwing the glass doors shut.

Then, a hand in his. Leaning over him, the tips of her hair tickled his forehead. "Hank—Henry—I have to—the pathogen's loose—" She took off a glove. Her hand glowed blue. She leaned closer, their respirators nearly touching. "This is going to hurt. A lot."

A new pain, so hot he could smell his flesh cook through the mask. He struggled against her, thrashing his head. Her hand tightened in his. He closed his eyes, breathing as shallowly as he could. She pinched together the slice in his chest, burning it closed. He felt a hot trickle on his fur—parts of the uniform were melting onto him. "How—how much more—?" he gasped, his yellow eyes searching her green ones desperately.

She withdrew her other hand from his grip to smooth back his hair. She left it at the back of his head, fingers twining deep into blue fur. "Almost done, you're doing great." The pain receded. "There." She held her hand up as the blue faded, then reached into another pocket to withdraw a needle much like the ones they inoculated themselves with. "Painkillers." Worry clouded her eyes. "I don't know if I'm steady enough to—"

"Just do it," he groaned.

She jabbed the needle deep into the fresh scar, making him cry out, and depressed the plunger. The pain dulled. "Can you walk?" Henry looked up at her, his vision clearing. Somehow her hand had made it back into his.

"I think so," he said, getting up with some help. He looked around. "Where are the others?"

Brand put his arm around his shoulders and hers around his waist. He didn't need the help, but he didn't resist. "They brought Sydren back to the ship. We're retreating and detonating this place remotely." They entered the loading bay and one of the men held the ship door open for them. Brand helped Henry into his seat and strapped him in. "Sydren, what's your status?"

"Ssstill alive," Sydren replied as the bay doors opened. "Though without the apparent medical care McCoy recssseived…."

Brand held up a hand, which glowed. "You want a big honkin' burn scar across your chest, too? I could arrange that."

"I wasss referring to the painkillersss. Do you carry more than one dossse on you?"

Brand handed him a fresh hypodermic, keeping her eyes on the starfield ahead of them. "Fine. Do it your own damn self."

Sydren turned to Henry. "And you, McCoy? How are you faring?"

Henry looked down at the scar on his chest. Pieces of singed hair and uniform were embedded in his melted flesh. He wondered about the possibility of infection, Phalanx or otherwise. "I could be better," he admitted.

Sydren smiled, and for the first time it appeared to be genuine. "If you think thisss isss bad, you're going to hate the disssinfectant ssshowers."

"Oh, joy."


	5. Chapter 5

SWORD #1 is now in stores! The art on Hank is a little wonky, but the writing is entertaining. If anything, it was over too soon! Go buy yourself a copy to support the continuing adventures of Brand and Beast!

* * *

Henry was unused to playing the patient. He was usually the one to stitch up wounds and diagnose problems, not the other way around. Sitting on one of the several tables set up in the medbay in a pair of shorts, he was distinctly uncomfortable. Sydren lay on the table to his right, and Brand stood next to the table on his left. She fumed and refused to sit when the doctor asked her.

"I'm fine," she snapped, crossing her arms. With her nose in the air and a scowl on her face, she reminded him more of a petulant child than the director of an intergalactic organization.

The doctor aimed a light in her eyes, but she batted it away. "Ms. Brand, your pupils are contracting abnormally. That's not nothing. If you would just be still for a—"

She threw her hands in the air. "I don't have time for this crap! I'm getting back to work. There's half a dozen requests for me that I haven't processed! I'm leaving."

"She hit her head on the dashboard of a ship yesterday," Henry offered. Brand shot him a murderous scowl. The doctor took her elbow, reining her in, and she shook him off.

"Yesterday?" the doctor echoed, disbelieving. "And you've been running around, even heading missions in this state?" His voice raised with each word until he was in a falsetto.

Brand was snotty in full force, scowling down at the doctor. "Big tough girl like me, I didn't even notice until you had the courtesy to point it out."

"Oh stop it," Henry groaned. "We're all very impressed with your stoicism, now sit down and let the man treat you."

The doctor rounded on Henry as if he noticed him for the first time. "And as for you! You knew about this, and didn't do anything? What the hell kind of doctor are you?"

Henry felt the heat of a flush hidden under his fur. "I tried, but…." The combined glares of the doctor and Brand made him lose track of what he was saying. "That is to say, she resisted." Now everyone in the medbay was watching him, and he was losing confidence fast. "I, er, had other things on my mind." He winced and tried one last time. "Technically," he admitted quietly, "I'm not even that kind of doctor." Henry didn't know he could sink lower in the collective opinion of the Peak, but here he was. If looks could kill, he thought wistfully.

The vein on the doctor's overlarge forehead ticked as he tapped information into two floating screens at once. "Brand, the only way to treat a concussion like yours is with rest. I'm scheduling you for two days off. Mandatory." Brand bared her teeth in anger. The doctor paused in his typing and held up a hand. "No argument, it's already done."

Brand had six inches on the doctor, and she used every last one to tower over him. "And ambassadors from every corner of the galaxy are coming here in three days! I can't be expected to go into that without preparation!"

The doctor looked up at her without fear. "You can and you are. Stand down or I'll add another day to your sentence." Brand turned away and muttered something Henry couldn't understand. "Swearing in Kree still counts as swearing, Brand. Go read a book or something." She replied in a new dialect and flipped her ponytail over her shoulder. The doctor watched her patiently as she paced the length of the examination table a few times, then looked at him with an air of expectancy. "Did you not understand? You've been dismissed."

"Can't go anywhere until I know the status of my crew," Brand replied. "Care to enlighten me?"

The doctor sighed. "We're going to patch Sydren up overnight. He took the shot in an area that, once we fix it, is still going to be prone to tearing. He'll need a week off from your missions."

This time, Brand swore in English. "And McCoy?"

The doctor's gaze traveled over the scar on his chest. "Given the circumstances, cauterizing the wound worked well. However, there is a lot of debris that needs to be extracted and treatments given so there is minimal lasting damage."

"How long?"

"The procedures won't take long, but like you and Sydren, he still needs rest. He'll be up and about in time for your dinner party."

"Good." She turned to Henry and stuck her thumbs in her pockets, rocking back on her heels. "So. You wanna grab a bite before they laser out the crud in your chest?"

The ache in Henry's stomach roared to life, reminding him that he still hadn't eaten anything today. Before he could reply, the doctor cut in. "Even with minor surgery, I prefer that the patient is on an empty stomach. And since we'll be starting as soon as you leave," he put a special emphasis on the word 'leave' and looked pointedly to the door, "he'll have to wait."

Brand raised her eyebrows. "Oh." She shrugged, her carefully composed expression showing a touch of disappointment. She was so different from the woman who held his hand as she burned him closed. Smaller. "Well. I'll just go, then. See you around, Sydren. Hank."

Henry leaned back on the table as instructed, watching her leave out of the corner of his eye. He forgot to thank her for saving his life. Once she was out of sight, he turned his attention to the ceiling, staring through it and into the depths of memory. As the doctors hovered over him, medical instruments whirring to life, he played the rescue in his head over and over. The surprise of the ambush. The thrill of bloodlust that coursed through him as he ripped the head off the Phalanx guard. The attack, the panic, the pain. And, most importantly, the familiar uneasiness that stirred in him when she held his hand.

Henry returned to his room around what he assumed was midnight. It didn't take someone of his intelligence to notice that there were no visible clocks in the Peak; apparently everyone carried some sort of timepiece with them, in a phone or personal computer. It took him a little while to remember the code to his room, but he eventually got the door open.

When the scent of good food hit him, Henry concluded he must be delirious with pain. Or maybe exhaustion, he couldn't decide. He lumbered toward the bed, not really expecting to sleep, before noticing the covered dish on the little table. Letting the smell draw him near, he approached the dish with cautious optimism. There was no way Brand knew his favorite foods. The file couldn't be that thorough. He uncovered the plate to discover that it was. Fresh condensation dribbled down the rim of the top plate and onto the table. He let a slow smile cross his face and sat down. Hovering a fork over the steaming food, he stopped and picked up his phone instead. She picked up on the first ring.

"It's me. Are you awake?"

"No," she replied, and he could hear a smile in her voice.

"I know it's late, but I have something terrible to admit and thought I should tell you."

"You're gay? Oh wait, you already tried that." He mumbled and she snickered. "What's up?"

"I found what you left me. It's a little creepy that you know me so well…" he imagined her smile on the other end fading, "but nice of you. Very nice."

"A compliment?" she teased. "That's a first. Still, I don't see a problem here."

Henry sighed so she could hear it through the phone. "Well, there's two problems. The first is that I don't think I can eat all of this without help, and the second is that I hate eating alone."

"Why, Doctor McCoy… are you asking me to dinner? If I'd known that saving your life would turn you into such a gentleman, I would've done it sooner."

"About that. I wanted to tell you, I—"

"Don't," she interrupted. "Or at least wait a second." There was a knock, and before Henry could answer the door it slid open on its own. Brand stood there with a sly smile, phone still to her ear. "Okay, you can say it now."

Henry stood and pulled out the second chair. "It's generally more polite to wait for the door to be opened for you rather than barging in."

"The nice thing about being me," she said, taking the seat he offered, "is that I can ignore the annoying little social niceties that everyone else has to put up with, and no one has the stones to call me rude to my face." She twisted her mouth to one side, thinking. "Except for you. You did just call me rude in that wordy roundabout way of yours, right?"

"One might interpret it as such." He took her hand. "But I wanted to talk about something else."

One green eyebrow raised. "Go on…."

Henry cleared his throat. He spoke slowly, taking his time to choose each word so she would understand him exactly. "Abigail, the last two days have been… an experience. To say the least. I've had to win people over left and right, thanks to your devastating influence." Brand frowned. "But," he added, "I'm beginning to understand that your efforts are always in my best interest, even if they don't turn out that way."

Brand's forehead wrinkled. "I can't tell if you're being nice or trying to insult me."

"I'm trying to get to the point," he replied. She pulled on her hand, but he held fast. "When you cauterized my wound, you saved me from joining the Phalanx. You saved my life, and for the first time I saw clearly that you cared about this… friendship. That we do work well together. And that I wouldn't mind working with you for more than a couple of weeks at a time." He lifted her hand to his mouth, giving it a chaste kiss. "But most of all, I wanted to thank you. For everything. You've been nothing but well-intentioned." Henry looked up to find Brand sitting completely still. Only her green eyes moved as she watched him intensely. "…Is something wrong?"

Brand gave her head a tiny shake. "I just… I don't know what to do here. Do we go to bed together yet?"

He dropped her hand. "I was trying to be sincere, and that's all you can think about?"

Brand's eyes widened. "Oh shit, I did it wrong." She picked up a fork with forced enthusiasm. "Um, still hungry?"

Henry stood, his hunger driven away by frustration. "I can't believe I was expecting you to be able to rein yourself in long enough to actually open an earnest channel of communication! Is another notch in your headboard so worth destroying what could be a promising friendship?"

Brand stood to match him, holding up her hands to fend off the verbal attacks. "Woah, I told you I was bad at this! I'm around so many different kinds of people, it's hard to be polite or whatever to everyone at all times—"

"And that's what this is all about, isn't it," Henry growled. "Different kinds of people. You want a taste of every race in the galaxy, and you bully and pressure them until they give in."

Brand got quiet. "You don't want to get into this."

"No? Because you were pretty eager to get me talking about Trish! So let's talk about you! You're kinky for aliens, right? And I suppose I'm just alien enough to turn you on, but human enough to take home to Mom!"

Suddenly she found it impossible to meet his gaze. "You don't understand, I—"

"Oh I don't? Because I think I'm seeing more clearly than ever! It's not enough to just be with aliens, is it! My God, the missing mirrors, the green trim on everything to match your hair… you don't like the way you look because you want to be an alien! You wish you weren't human at all! I can't believe they actually promoted you to director of S.W.O.R.D.—"

The uppercut crushed his tongue between his teeth. Brand put her face close to his, her hatred as hot as her temperature. "The first time you ever spoke to me," she said, her voice trembling with fury, "you were disgustingly polite. I'd brought nothing but misery on your and the X-Men's heads, and you still kept up with your pleases and thank yous. And you know what?" She jabbed her finger dangerously close to his scar. The air around her began to warp in the heat. "I'd never met someone so respectful before. Everyone else, they see me doing my job and they either tell me I'm irrelevant or I should be doing better." He felt rivulets of sweat cut paths in his fur. It was getting hard to breathe. "But not you." She stepped back and cool air rushed in at him. She crossed her arms, half holding herself. "That's why I like you."

Henry opened and closed his mouth, trying to grasp for the right words. "Every time I asked you to back off…?"

She nodded. "I would've gotten over you a lot faster if you'd just yelled at me. Or said something shitty." Lowering her voice, she added, "That's how I got over the rest of them." She closed her eyes and breathed deep, the hurt sliding off her face in favor of the neutral mask Henry knew so well. "But it's okay. I'm over you now." She turned to the door. "So really, thanks for saying all that stuff. It snapped me back to my senses."

Guilt and panic punched a hole in him. What would happen if she left now? Would she fire him? Would she cry, all alone in a room that was no more of a home to her than his room here? If she left now, before he had a chance to make it better, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. A wild thought chased itself around in his head—what if he gave her what she wanted? Maybe that would repair the damage he did to their beginning friendship. He held out a hand. "Abigail…."

She stepped through the door, not caring to look back. "Night, Hank. I'll see you around."


	6. Chapter 6

I believe this is the longest entry in my fic so far, and I have pictures to go along with it! Pics can be found on my livejournal, username "waywardpug".

* * *

"I think I'm going mad."

Sydren refused to look away from the hole he was staring in the ceiling. "And your firssst instinct wasss to ssseek out the empath inssstead of going to a therapissst. The empath who hasssn't left his table in the medbay for twelve hoursss. The empath who could care lesss about how you ssscrewed thingsss up for yourssself thisss time."

Henry sat on the table to Sydren's right and spread his hands. "I need someone to tell me how I'm feeling. Why I keep provoking her. Because for once," he admitted, a sigh in his voice, "I can't figure it out myself."

"Don't you have a psssychic on your X-team? Why don't you asssk her? Ssshe knowsss you better anyway."

Henry grimaced at the idea. "Emma loves drama. If I went to her with this, she would root around in my head until she found something she could force me into doing that would only make things worse. Sydren, please."

Sydren hissed a long sigh and turned his head in Henry's direction, unenthusiastic. "Fine. You're attracted to her."

"I… I think I knew that already." Did he? Henry wasn't positive. "Thank you. I'll leave you alone now." He headed toward the door, deep in thought. Sydren's confirmation was enough to make him accept his interest in Brand, but it stood in direct contrast to the way he treated her. Why was he holding back? He stopped in the doorway. "Why do I hold her at arm's length?" he wondered out loud.

"That," Sydren replied, "is a quessstion that goesss beyond emotion, to motivation. I'm no exssspert in human courting ritualsss, but I believe it hasss sssomething to do with the two of you not being able to agree on how to properly ssstart the relationssship."

Henry furrowed his brow as he considered it. "I'm trying to be a gentleman."

"Have you ever consssidered that maybe ssshe doesssn't want you to be a gentleman?"

He turned and headed back toward Sydren's table. "I'm not sure I'm ready to take that step. Taking things slow is how I show respect, it's part of who I am."

Sydren was unimpressed. "Isss yelling at her when ssshe wantsss to take it fassst alssso a part of who you are?"

Henry's stomach clenched in embarrassment. "I thought you weren't a psychic."

"No, but you both have been obsssessing about it enough to let the eventsss color your emotionsss, and from there I can make a fair guesss." He smirked. "Wasss I right?"

"You know damn well you are," he grumbled. "What do I do now?"

"Well, if you wisssh to continue recssseiving my advicssse, I would advissse we figure out sssome sssort of payment. Like I sssaid, I'm not a therapissst."

"Just let me keep talking, I do believe I'm onto something here." He scratched his chin. "I mean, she's intelligent, she's attractive, she's competent—for the most part—and she likes me just the way I am, not despite it. Logically, she's an excellent choice and I should pursue her." He leaned against a counter, lost in thought. "Which I haven't been doing very aggressively. She's the one to always make the first move and I've been the one to resist."

Sydren groaned. "If you're going to talk to yourssself, I would apprecsssiate it if you left me alone."

Ignoring Sydren, Henry continued. "So if I'm going to win her over after something like last night, I need to be forward. Even prepare myself—" he swallowed hard, thinking of smooth flesh, "—to take it faster than I want. That's what I have to do." He looked up. "Sydren, where is she right now? This is urgent."

Sydren rolled his eyes, but complied. "The gym."

Henry's face split into a grin. "Thank you so much for your help." He put a hand on Sydren's arm." You've been a good friend." Turning to exit the medbay, he could have skipped out of the room.

The pool threw a shivering green reflection over Henry as he entered. He watched the light play across his hands for a moment, distracted by its strange beauty. It was larger than Olympic-size, but only three swimmers made use of it. Henry paced along one end, sizing them up. One swimmer threw their head back for a breath of air and he saw a flash of emerald. "Abigail." His voice bounced off the high ceilings. The swimmer spotted him, bobbing as she treaded water, then headed for the other side of the pool. A thrill of panic ran through him—was she going to leave before he could catch her? Would she avoid him now? She got out and reached for the towel that hung on the nearest chair. She flashed a glance in his direction before toweling off her hair. "Abigail," he repeated as he approached, a little louder.

She twisted her hair upwards and eyed him over her shoulder. "Can I help you?" Coming closer, Henry was suddenly intensely aware of his little reactions to her, like how he immediately noticed that the stripe on the side of her swimsuit traced an attractive curve. "Eyes up here, McCoy. " Henry's gaze jumped to where it should be. She put a hand on her hip. "What do you want?"

He was encouraged by her exasperation. If that was the worst she could muster, maybe he hadn't done as much damage as he thought. "You were ordered to rest. This isn't resting."

She turned in the direction of the locker rooms, but walked slowly so he could follow. "I got bored."

"You could make it worse. Are you deliberately trying to hurt yourself?"

She held up a hand to stop him. "Look, if you're going to yell at me some more, can you at least wait until I'm changed?"

Henry shook his head. He didn't mean to get her defensive. "I was just… concerned," he admitted.

"Well. Thanks." She reached to open the exit door.

Henry pulled her back by the elbow. "Can we talk?"

"I thought we were."

"Alone?"

Brand regarded him coolly as she considered. "All right." She wrapped the towel around her waist. "You gonna take it the wrong way if I suggest we go to my room?"

He opened the door for her. "By all means."

Henry tapped his foot against the carpet nervously. Brand didn't stop to talk when they reached her room, but picked out a set of clothes and immediately retreated to the bathroom. At Henry's complaint, she left the door open a crack so they could talk. He averted his eyes when he saw the flash of an athletic leg. However, as they spoke he caught his gaze again traveling in her direction.

"I'm glad I found you."

There was the shush of clothing sliding over skin, then Brand spoke. Her voice echoed on the porcelain. "What's the problem, Hank?"

He shrugged, then realized she couldn't see him. "No problem. I thought that you might… you know."

"I know what?"

Henry regretted suggesting it. The idea sounded childish, now that he brought it up. "Avoid me?"

"Doesn't sound like me."

"No, it doesn't," he agreed. "But after what I said, I was afraid you'd hate me."

He heard her sigh. "I don't hate you."

"You would have every reason to, if you wanted. I was appallingly rude. I wouldn't hold it against you if you did."

"I. Don't. Hate you." An unseen hairdryer whirred to life.

"That's quite a…." The sound drowned him out. He tried again, louder. "That's quite a relief! It's very… could you turn that thing off, please?"

"What?"

"I said, could you turn the dryer off!"

The whirr died down and Brand stuck her head through the crack in the door. A thick strap on one lean shoulder made Henry wonder how many non-sports bras she owned. "Can this wait?" She picked up a piece of tangled wet hair and showed it to him. "It gets stringy if I don't blow dry it."

Henry motioned to the chair across the table from him. "Could you put it off for a couple minutes? I would appreciate it if we could talk."

Brand rolled her eyes and disappeared behind the door for a moment to drag on a shirt. Coming to the table, she sat and put her chin in one hand. "Good enough for you?"

He gave a small smile. "I've never seen you wear gray before. It looks good on you."

Brand checked the color of her shirt self-consciously. "It does?"

"Absolutely," Henry replied. "Though I believe it would be more complimentary if you tried wearing styles that are a little more flattering. You favor tank tops and pants, but it wouldn't hurt to add a little diversity to your wardrobe." He stood and offered her his hand. "Here, could you turn around for me?"

Brand raised an eyebrow, but she followed his lead. "What are you doing?"

"Humor me." She did, turning herself around but always keeping her curious eyes on him. "Yes, I think a skirt and a nice charcoal blouse would suit you perfectly. You would look very smart."

"I don't own any skirts." She sat back down. "But is this really what you wanted to talk to me about?"

Henry's smile faded and he took a seat as well. "Not exactly."

Brand fixed him with an expectant stare. "You wanna spill?"

Henry squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to calm the sudden nervousness that overcame him. It didn't help, so he opened them again. "There were a couple things. First of all, I want to emphasize how deeply sorry I am for what I said last night." Brand shrugged, waving it away. "No, I mean it. And you're not even mad at me! If you started acting nicer to your crew, I might mistake you for a saint."

"It's nothing," Brand said, her eyes on her hands.

"No, it's not nothing! Not at all! I want to know how you can be so kind, because if I were in your position, I wouldn't forgive me!"

Brand lowered her head so she could scratch the back of her neck. Wet green hair shielded her face from his. "Seriously. It's nothing. Most of what you said was true anyway." She stood and headed to the bathroom door. "Can't fault you for speaking the truth, y'know?"

Henry's eyes widened as he tried to remember everything he said. Standing up, he rushed to the door and caught it before she could close it. "Don't."

She was unmoved. "I'm not about to run off in a fit of girlish tears, if that's what you're worried about. I just want to dry my hair."

He let go of the door. "Fine. But would you mind if I stayed? There were a few other matters I wished to discuss."

"Suit yourself." She shut the door.

He looked around the room for something to occupy his attention while she finished. Unfortunately, the room was identical to his in every way. He tapped his foot, trying to scope out any minor differences. Every surface was clean and bare. Even the frames where mirrors used to be were—wait. He spotted a photograph, wedged into the empty frame of where the bureau mirror once stood. He took a couple hesitant steps in its direction. She couldn't get angry with him for noticing something out in the open, right? Coming close enough to the photo to see it clearly, he bent over and examined it. The photograph was oddly sized, but it showed the same sullen teenage Brand and her mother he saw in the file. It cropped off at an odd angle on the elder Brand's left shoulder, but looking closer he realized someone took a pair of scissors to one end. The furry arm around her mother's shoulders connecting to the sudden edge of the photo gave a hint as to why. What little Brand once said about her father matched the description. Henry took a seat on the end of the bed, trying to find something else to occupy his mind. Spotting a remote, he switched on the television.

"—has been Trish Tilby, reporting for the NCBC news. On our next report—" He fumbled with the remote, trying to turn it off before the pretty face on the television could burn itself into his mind. As if it hadn't already.

Brand stood in the bathroom doorway, her stricken gaze going back and forth between Henry and the TV. When he finally shut it off, she managed, "Well. This is…."

"Awkward," Henry agreed. "Are… are you a fan of the station?"

Brand didn't move from her place in the doorway, looking trapped. "I don't watch TV much," she said quickly, "I was just flipping channels a couple days before you came here, and I…."

Henry sighed and patted the place beside him. "I suppose telling you about her would be in line with what I came here to do." Brand sat beside him, cocking her head to listen. He thought back to his time with his last girlfriend, replaying it in his head as he spoke. "Trish and I… well, we loved each other, but we had very little in common. We were both so busy all the time." He looked out the lone window at the stars. "It's autumn down on Earth now. She and I, some of the best times we had together were simple walks around the mansion campus. Watching the leaves turn." An ache opened up in his chest, one he thought was long gone. Old wounds. "Trish was my longest relationship, but it was fraught with trouble. We fought." He sighed. "A lot. We broke up, got back together, broke up again… it happened fairly often." Catching Brand's expression, he explained, "It was her work at the news station. She had a habit of releasing sensitive information, much of which I never gave her permission to share with the world. X-Men business. And as for me… looking the way I did, I was sure I couldn't do better."

Brand had a finger in her mouth, chewing on her nail in thought. She wouldn't look at him. "That sucks."

He nodded. "You already know what did us in—that article, this face, and her concern for her public image."

Half under her breath, Brand said, "I like your face." She caught herself and spoke a little louder. "I mean, liked. I liked your face." She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Back when I was interested in you." Henry allowed his smile to return. She pulled her knees to her chest. "I guess now that you've spilled it all, you expect me to do the same."

"I am terribly curious."

"And I'm not good at sharing."

He stretched out, propping himself on his side on one elbow. "If I asked you questions, would you answer them?"

She gave a twitch that he interpreted as a shrug. "I guess."

"Honestly?"

She scowled. "If I have to."

"All right." He considered what his first question should be. "Your father—"

She scooted away from him, holding up her hands. "Family," she said, "is a subject I am not ready to talk about. Ask something else."

She was a foot farther from him now. He formulated a plan to close the distance. "What about you and other aliens? May I ask about that?"

"Sure." Her eyes flitted to the photo in the mirror frame, then back to the space she was so carefully staring at to avoid looking at him. "Ask away."

"How long have you known about your… interest? In aliens, I mean."

"Like, sexually?"

"That is what I was trying to delicately imply, yes."

She put her arms behind her and leaned back on them, a sliver of stomach showing from under her shirt. "I thought I was asexual until I was thirteen. That's when I visited my first alien planet."

"Does the crew know?"

She nodded. "That's a part of why they don't respect me. They think I'm in it just to have my twisted little adventures."

"And… you're not, right?" She punched him in the arm, hard enough to send a message but light enough not to hurt. "Sorry."

"Yeah, I bet you are." Sarcasm and amusement mingled in her voice. "You human guys, you just love it. And you all think the same, too. 'I'll be the one to break her of it! My dick is the magical ingredient she didn't know she was missing in her life!'" She snorted. "Gimme a break."

"So… never with a human."

Henry was encouraged by the hint of a smile that crossed her face. "Geez, are you really that curious about my sex life?"

Henry assumed a mock-offended tone. "I could have just as easily been inquiring as to your previous romances!" He sat up so he could put himself in the path of her gaze. "I told you about mine. It's your turn to share."

She still refused to look at him directly, instead choosing a spot just over his shoulder. "Never with a human, okay?"

He scooted closer. He would stare at her until she returned it. "Then what intrigued you about me? What sets me apart?"

She reached one hand out, holding it hesitantly in the space between them before finally using it to touch Henry's cheek. Her thumb rubbed his fur, getting a feel for its softness. "Human bodies," she murmured, lowering her tone as she got closer, "are frail. Soft. You're not." Her hand traveled to the back of his head, playing with the longer hair there. But never looking at him. "I've seen you in action. You're…. Strong. Amazing."

He put a hand on the small of her back to guide her closer. The fabric of her shirt rode up as she leaned over, leaving his hand on warm, smooth skin. Catching her gaze for a fleeting second, he found himself returning the tiny smile she gave him before looking away. He turned his face into her palm, rubbing his nose and mouth against the creases of her hand. "All these compliments," he said, half muffled by the curve of her fingers, "and I don't think I've given you even one in return."

"Compliment away," she grinned, hooking a finger in a lock of fur by his jaw and drawing him closer. She still smelled of chlorine.

Henry was close enough to move his hand around her, circling her with his arm. He could feel a pulse thunder through her, but she kept her breathing controlled. "My God, where do I begin?" She was making him sweat again, but this time the heat was not the cause. "You are aware that you're the kind of action hero Hollywood has only dreamed of creating, right?"

Brand laughed softly. "You're not doing much to make me feel feminine," she breathed.

"Not feminine?" he chuckled. "How can the woman of every man aboard this station's dreams not feel feminine?"

She moved away a fraction and he was sorry to see her go. Her smile faded. "Every man but one."

He followed her, pressing close. He touched her chin, tilting her face so their eyes met. He had to get his message across before she thought better of giving him another chance. "Any man that tells you he isn't interested is lying to you, and any man that truly believes he is uninterested is lying to himself." He waited for a sign that she understood.

Her eyelids hung half-lidded, sensuous and tempting. "Then maybe that man should stop dancing around the issue and admit to what he wants."

"You," Henry said, and lowered his face to meet hers. Their mouths brushed at first, but he pressed on. She pressed harder. For one brief, shining moment they tangled around each other, arms and lips and legs and hands.

He felt it the instant sense came back over her. Her posture stiffened and suddenly she wasn't holding on to him so hard. Fear washed through him and he held her tight, trying to coax her enthusiasm with kisses. She turned her head and he knew it was over. They parted. Brand sat ramrod-straight, fists in her lap. "What am I doing," she muttered.

Henry held out a hand to her, trying to ignore the burn of disappointment in his chest. "I thought you were having a nice time."

Brand batted his hand away, putting one of her own to the bridge of her nose. "That doesn't matter," she said, and he heard pain in her voice. "I can't get involved with you. I promised myself I wouldn't after you yelled at me."

"I was wrong," Henry insisted, trying to hold one of her hands. "I was wrong on every count and you wouldn't believe how sorry I am even if I told you. How lucky I am that you've given me a second, and third, and fourth chance."

Brand stood, anger flashing across her face. "And how do I know that you're not going to change your mind again? You want me, then you don't want me, then you want me again. You're completely bipolar! And me… I'm an idiot for letting it go on so long."

Henry stood and followed her, reaching his arms out as if to hold her. "I've made up my mind, and I'm sure of it this time. What do you want? Do you want me to spend the night? I'm sorry I didn't do it before, I am, but I was so caught up in my ideas of what was proper and what wasn't…. Look, we can be together, we can take it fast. I'm willing. Let me just go get a—"

"No." She crossed her arms. "You're going to go to your own room, and stay there. I'm done with you."

"Abby…."

She cringed. "Don't call me that like you know me." She threw a hand to the door. "Just leave."

"There has to be a way to make this better," he insisted. "I'm a genius, I should be able to think of something. Just give me a second." Brand scowled and advanced on him. A brief sense of hope shone inside of Henry before she started to bodily force him out the door. She was abnormally strong. "Abigail… is there no way I could prove myself to you?"

She stopped short of forcing him through the doorway. Removing the pressure, her hands simply rested on his chest. "I'm sick of this back and forth, Hank. That's not me."

He put his hands over top of hers, trapping them there. "Then—then if I could prove to you, somehow, that I'm serious about pursuing you?"

She scowled at his touch and resumed pushing. "It would take a hell of a lot to make me change my mind."

He clung to the doorway. "Let me take you out tomorrow. Give me a chance to prove myself." She stopped. "What do you have to lose? Neither of us can go back on duty just yet." He reached to brush her hair with his fingertips. "Please."

His last word melted her. She scowled and let him go. "Fine. One shot." She poked his chest with an accusing finger. "No funny business."

He grinned and stepped through the doorway, taking a bow. "I shall do my best to seduce you in the most polite, respectful manner I can muster."

The shadow of what he hoped was a smile passed over her. "Yeah. I bet." She hit the switch for the door and it closed. "See you tomorrow, Hank."

"You won't regret it!" he called after her, but she was gone. He stared at the door, trying to divine the meanings of her reaction, but his excitement kept clouding his mind. One more chance! It was late afternoon and already he couldn't wait for tomorrow. Heading down the corridor, Henry flipped open his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. "Hello, this is Dr. McCoy. Could you get me… yes, hello Emma. I need a favor. Actually, several favors."


	7. Chapter 7

Henry paced the corridor, periodically checking his watch. His fur was brushed, his bow tie was on straight, and he had a full dental kit in his pocket for food emergencies. All he needed now was a companion and a ride—but there was a hitch. Brand started screening his calls to her as soon as she forced him out the day before, so while he could arrange every detail of their outing together to perfection, he was unable to check with her about any of it, or even what time they should start their day together. He was up by seven and ready by eight, but, being unsure of her sleep schedule, he had no idea when would be appropriate to meet up. Nine was too early and ten was too late, so he settled for nine-thirty on the dot. It was currently nine-twenty seven.

Trying to take his mind off the time, he considered how best to open the conversation. "Abigail," he muttered to himself, "do you recall the request I made of you yesterday? Well, after you forced me out your door, I made some… no…." He tried again. "Hey, Abby. Let's go out on the town." That didn't feel like something he would say. He furrowed his brow, trying to think of a better alternative.

"Okay."

Henry jumped. Brand leaned against her doorway, hands in her pockets. "How long have you been watching?" he asked, dreading the answer.

She shrugged. "Not long. I heard you talking to yourself a while back, though." She smirked. "I was waiting to see if you had the guts to knock on my door."

He checked the time on his phone. Nine forty-five. Strange. "I wasn't sure what time would be appropriate to rouse you." He looked her up and down. "Is that what you're going out in?"

She was defiant. "I'm wearing it, aren't I?"

He frowned. "That won't do at all." Pushing his way past her, he headed to the closet. "Let's find something better."

"Hey!" Her protests came too late—he was pawing through her clothes before she could say a word. "This is an invasion of privacy. What if I had something personal hidden in there?"

Henry inspected a turtleneck before putting it away. "Oh, please. You're far too intelligent to hide anything of import in your closet or your underwear drawer."

Brand eyed the bureau. "Is that what you're planning to inspect next?"

"I don't know," he said over his shoulder, "can I trust you to pick out something that doesn't look like you've just returned from the gym?" He reached the last of the hangers of clothes. "Please tell me you own something more fashion-forward than a single threadbare cocktail dress."

She crossed her arms. "I don't think I should be taking advice from a guy who thinks a bowtie is the height of style. Besides, where are we going that this matters so much?"

"I won't stoop to your level by insinuating that your choice of clothing is without taste—which it is—but I will say that as a representative of the best S.W.O.R.D. has to offer, when you see the sights of a city as culturally significant as New York it is highly advised that you put your best face forward. And that includes what you're wearing." He leaned halfway out of the closet to grin down at her. "Let me guess: you've never been to New York outside of S.W.O.R.D. business."

He saw her hide a smile behind a fake brush of the hair. "Nailed it."

He thrust three hangers at her. "These slacks with that shirt and this jacket."

She took the clothes from him. "Is this what I'm wearing for our day out, or is this the preliminary fashion show?"

"You'll keep those on until we can get you to a clothing store."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You're gonna spend money on me?"

Henry steered her into the bathroom. "Yes, I am. With your permission, I would like to consider this the first of a long line of wildly successful dates that the two of us will be embarking upon." He moved to close the door. "Now if you would be so kind as to dress yourself quickly? We'll need at least two hours to shop for what you're actually going to wear and the show starts at one."

She clutched the clothing to her chest, startled by the extent of his plans. "Show?" she asked, her voice weak.

"Broadway. I take it you've never been." Fear replaced the amusement on her face. "You'll be fine, I promise. Now go change!" He shut the door.

Descending into the atmosphere, Brand took him through the basics of maneuvering a standard S.W.O.R.D. ship. "Ease back the speed a bit," she said, leaning into his side of the cockpit to turn down the projection of a dial.

"I can do it myself," he protested, and used the opportunity to touch her hair tie instead. "Take the ponytail out."

"I know you're eager to get to this store or whatever, but I don't want us to reach terminal velocity too fast. Sucks up all the power, to be cooling off the outer shell." She reached over him to tap a screen. "And the ponytail stays. I let you boss me around enough as it is."

He put his face close to hers. "Just this one thing. I promise I'll let you direct me in how best to lavish affection on you, which gifts you would most enjoy receiving…." She turned her head away to hide her expression. "Come now, you can't tell me you're not going enjoy this."

"You're still on my shit list," she said, but she was smiling. "It's going to take a lot to make me change my mind."

"Be careful what you wish for, I can be embarrassingly romantic," he warned. "You have beautiful hair, and more people would notice if you didn't keep it tied back." He took a closer look at her profile. "And pierced ears? We'll get some nice earrings."

"You know, the money you're spending is going to come out of my payroll. Not sure I'm okay with you spending S.W.O.R.D.'s money on me."

"I didn't agree to work for S.W.O.R.D. for the money, Abigail. Being one of the top scientists in the world means I do have savings of my own." He checked a monitor. "Besides, you're probably unsure of this because none of your previous _amors_ draped you in their homeworld's finest fabrics and jewelry like you deserved. Am I right?"

Brand looked out the window. "You make it sound a lot more glamorous than it was." Her expression was more faraway than he wanted.

"It must be a universal fact, then, that men can be unappreciative jerks."

The corners of her mouth twitched. "You know, half of them had families back home," she said. "All they wanted was—what did you call it?—a taste of every race in the galaxy."

"What terrible choices you've made in men," he grinned.

"Yeah," she agreed. "You know, there's this one guy…."

"Go on."

She put her elbow on the armrest and her chin on her fist. "He's a little obsessive. Big crush on me. I'm lucky he puts his sexual frustration towards being all polite and proper, cause the way he looks at me, he's barely holding back on ravishing me. Cute, though."

"I like him, you should stick with that one. He sounds like a winner." When she put her hand on his control panel again, he took it in his own and squeezed. "Who do I contact on the ground before we land?"

She slipped her hand from his and continued what she was doing, but she glowed with the attention. "Government helipad's in New Rochelle, which is a twenty-minute ride from the city. Manhattan's a no-fly zone. They know we're coming."

"The X-Jet and Fantastic Four fly over New York all the time."

"Yeah," she replied, still smiling, "and you're not supposed to. You guys get called in a lot."

He couldn't help laughing. "So I've been causing trouble for you long before we met!"

"I'm going to take over for the landing," she warned, then shot him a glance. "And yeah. You did."

Even when they greeted the officials on standby, Henry and Abigail's attentions were never far from each other. She kept looking his way after saying clever things and he had a hard time keeping a straight face. After making the prerequisite small talk with the people who wanted their attention, Henry nodded to the door and mentioned their car would be waiting.

"Car?" Brand echoed as they stepped outside. "We could have called in a government vehicle and ridden in style, instead of in a ta…." She spotted the car. "…Limo?"

Henry nodded to the chauffer, who opened a door for them. "I let Emma make the arrangements for us. She has impeccable taste."

Brand followed him inside, looking around the interior in wonder. "Emma, as in the half-silicone hates-my-guts Emma?"

Henry picked up an envelope on the leather seat, addressed to him. "More like the confused-about-why-we're-dating-yet-supportive-that-I've-moved-past-Trish Emma." He opened the envelope and removed its contents. "It appears she's included a message along with the show tickets." He cleared his throat and read it off. "'H—'" He paused and added, "That's me. 'H—Can't begin to understand your motivations, but I hope you have fun.'" Something fell out of the packet.

Brand picked it up. "A condom," she said, nonplussed. She put it in her pocket. "Nice of her."

Henry gave a nervous laugh before continuing to read. "'Be safe, you don't know what sort of….'" He paused. "Oh dear."

Interest flashed in Brand's eyes. "What's it say?" She leaned over to read the letter.

Henry held the letter to one side, shielding it from her. "The next part isn't very polite."

"Read it anyway!" she insisted.

He sighed and readjusted his glasses. "'Be safe, you don't know what sort of space diseases the little bint has picked up on her travels.'" Brand barked a laugh. "'All my love, Emma.'"

Brand wiped a tear of hilarity out of her eye. "She's got your best interests at heart."

"I'm surprised you're taking this so well. If one of your men said something like that to your face—"

"—He'd be taking a space walk without a suit on, I know. Emma's not one of my men, though." Brand chuckled to herself. "Can't fault her for not liking me, though. Type-A's always know when a more dominant personality walks into the room, and she thought she had the market on 'bitch' cornered." She leaned back on the seat. "At least she can console herself always knowing she'll be the sluttier dressed of the two of us."

Henry put an arm around the back of the seat, angling himself so her shoulder leaned against his. "Speaking of which, I've never seen you wear anything low-cut. When we get to the store—it's another of Emma's favorites, back when I was making plans I had a feeling we'd have to find you some better clothes—I want you to get something that goes below your collarbone."

Brand squirmed. "I don't like it all just… hanging out there."

"We'll get something tasteful," he promised, patting her hand.

"Can I see the playbill?" Brand asked, taking them out of his grip. Inspecting the cover, she raised an eyebrow. "…Did you choose the show, or did Emma…?"

Henry looked at the playbill, which proudly proclaimed the cast list for Beauty and the Beast. He put his hand to his face to hide the smile. "Apparently Emma believes herself to be quite the comedian."

"Good. Because if it was you, I don't think I could date a guy who doesn't understand the meaning of irony."

Henry allowed himself a moment of pride. "Abigail my dear, you forget to whom you speak. I am the man who cured the Legacy Virus. The brain of any competent X-Team." He leaned closer and grinned. "I could quote you Webster's definition of irony, word for word from memory, in the most lascivious of positions without losing my cool. Believe me, I know irony."

Brand reached into the mini bar and withdrew two trembling glasses. "Is that a threat?"

Henry selected a bottle of champagne and poured them each a glass. "Think of it more as a promise." They shared a chuckle and looked away, Brand out the window and Henry into his champagne. He was making boasts he wasn't sure he could live up to. He lifted the glass to his mouth and tipped it bottoms-up. Thank goodness for liquid courage.

Something drew Brand's attention. "We're slowing down. Is that the place?"

Henry tilted himself so he could see out the window at the same angle. He checked the street, then the address written on Emma's note. "That's the one. It's rather…."

"Big," Brand gulped. Two floors of elaborately decorated dresses twinkled in the light as they pulled up to the curb. "Are you sure you can afford a place like this?"

Henry got out and went around the side to open the door for her, but she was already out and looking around in awe. "Don't worry about price. Just try to have a nice time."

Brand's smile became less genuine and more forced. "Don't know if I can promise you that. This isn't really my thing."

Henry took her hand and started towards the door with a confidence he hoped was infectious. To the driver he said, "We'll be back at twelve-fifteen." He gave Brand's hand a tug, making her move faster. Entering the opulent store, he scoped out an employee immediately. "Excuse me, Miss."

The woman turned, saw him and gave a started jump. Regaining her composition, she plastered on a smile as fake as Brand's. "How may I help you… sir…?"

Henry took Abigail by the shoulders and forced her in front of him. "We're looking for an outfit or two that would adequately compliment my friend's hair color."

The woman and Brand eyed each other uneasily. "Er… dyed or mutant?"

He smiled wide, but retracted it when he saw the fear his fangs caused. "Neither. If you would be so kind as to help us."

"Of—of course. Right this way."

The saleswoman led them through a selection of clothing, allowing a pile to form on Henry's arm while trying to coax something, anything positive from Brand. It proved to be impossible. Finally they made it to the dressing rooms. The saleswoman made a break for it, leaving Henry sitting in a chair by a triple-paned mirror. "There," he said to the only part of Brand he could see, her thick-soled boots. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She groaned. "I don't think I like any of these."

"Well try something on and come out of there so I can see it. There's a very nice mirror out here, you can see yourself on all sides." He checked his own reflection in it, smoothing back a few stray hairs.

"In a minute." Her boots moved and she was kneeling on the floor in the stall. She slid something across to him. "Hold this, will you?"

Seeing the object she sent his way, his eyes widened and he quickly concealed it in his suit jacket. "Abigail!" he hissed. "What are you doing with a gun in a clothing store?!"

She went back to trying on clothes. "You should know better than anyone what it feels like to have your life in constant danger."

"I don't carry concealed weapons on my days off!" He gave the doorway a nervous glance, making sure no one heard or saw him.

Brand opened her dressing room door and went to the mirrors. "You could probably bench press a car. All I got are hot hands." She twisted so she could inspect herself from the side. "There's a difference."

Henry stood and smoothed out the lapels on her blouse. "You should try tucking the shirt into your waistband." Lowering his voice, he continued. "Look, you're a strong, intelligent woman. I don't doubt that if there was an alien invasion right now, you would be capable of taking them all down without the use of a single gun." He stood back and looked her up and down. "That's a very nice combination. And I'm holding onto your weapon for the rest of the day." She opened her mouth to protest but he wouldn't hear it. "Go on," he said, ushering her back into the dressing room, "try the other skirt now."

As they made their way to the cashier, it was obvious they were being followed. The whispering salespeople and customers kept themselves at a distance, but the stares were obvious. Even as they approached the salesperson at the counter, Henry juggled the hangars as they walked, trying to get a response out of Abigail about which articles of clothing she would like to keep. She was too focused on the attention they were getting.

"How do you deal with this?" she demanded. A stunned customer came too close and she drove him away with a devastating glare.

"I got used to it," he replied, holding up a blouse. "What about this one? I'd rather not just buy what I think is nice, so your input would be appreciated."

"It's demeaning!"

He placed a selection of clothes on the counter. "So is the way your crew treats you. We all must endure little inequities." A saleswoman approached the cashier and whispered in her ear.

"Yeah, but—hey!" Brand snapped at the saleswoman, slapping her hands on the counter. "What did you just call us?!"

"Settle down," Henry said, handing the cashier his card. "It's not worth getting upset over."

Brand snatched the receipt before he could react and ignited one hand, burning it to a cinder. "They called us muties! We're not shopping here."

"Abigail, calm down—"

Even as he took her by the arm, she raged on. "Do you ignorant people even know who you're talking to?!" He dragged her in the direction of the door. "This is one of the founding members of the X-Men! He's saved this city more times than your idiot brains can count!"

He could feel her temperature rise, and aimed to get her out of the store before something bad happened. "Come on." He pushed the door open and nearly carried her through it.

Releasing her on the sidewalk, he braced himself for what came next. Would she yell at him for not defending himself, like Scott might? Or break something, like Logan? He watched her and waited. She stood rooted to the spot, green eyes aflame. In the time it took to blink, her mouth was on his, hands tangled deep in his fur. Before he had time to reciprocate, she pulled away to look him in the eye.

"Don't let the bastards get you down, Hank." She threw a glare over her shoulder at the people who watched, stunned, in the store window. "There's too many people in this world who don't know a good thing when they see it."

It took a moment to process the mood swing. The anger in her eyes, once he realized that it was not at him but for him, flooded him with gratitude. "I believe," he said, speaking slowly, "that is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me."

She crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Then you have crappy friends."


	8. Chapter 8

With forty-five minutes before the limo would pick them up to go to the show, Henry and Abigail wandered in the direction of what his nose told him was food. "You really should hold onto your appetite for after the musical," he told her. He closed his eyes to sniff out the teriyaki he smelled, guiding her along with a hand on the small of her back. If he was more sure of himself, he would have simply put his arm around her. Brand ran hot and cold, though, and he was so charmed by her standing up for him that he didn't want to push his luck.

"I just need a snack," she replied as they turned onto a new street. "I get pissy when I'm… huh."

Henry looked around. "Huh?" he echoed.

Abigail's eyes were wide as she turned her head in every direction, drinking in the scenery. Red and black covered every storefront, all of which displayed the finest in eclectic fashions. "Look at those boots!"

Henry was able to immediately identify the street they were on. "You like St. Mark's Place, eh? I'll admit I don't quite see the appeal, but then again they cater to a younger… ah yes, the combat boots. I should have known." He looked in the direction she was pointing. "I hate to break it to you, but from what I've seen those boots are for fashion only, terribly heavy and cumbersome." Her face fell. "But if you'd like, we could go inside and see for ourselves. I could be wrong." He let her lead him in, amused by her exclamations over the footwear. The store displayed a variety of unusual clothes, from Renaissance-styled velvet coats to carefully tattered punk dresses. One thing caught his eye. "Abigail," he breathed.

She looked up. "Yeah?" She followed his gaze. "Oh. That's…." She didn't know what else to say. A peacock-colored dress hugged the curves of a mannequin, its jewel tones changing from blue in the light to green in the shadow and shot through with threads of purple.

Henry grinned. "Do you want it?" The expression on Abigail's face made it clear that she was struggling to keep from saying that she did. He approached the young man tending the counter, and pointed to the dress. "I am very interested in an article of clothing you have on display. If you would be so kind as to—"

"Display clothes don't go on sale until next week," he said, and went back to doodling on a scrap of paper.

Henry angled himself so Abigail couldn't see what he was doing and slid a twenty across the counter. "I would appreciate it very much if you were to make an exception."

The man considered for a moment, and covered the twenty with his hand. "I'll get it down. Tell your girlfriend to find a dressing room."

Henry blustered about for a response. "She's not my—that is to say I would like her to be—but we're just—do you think we'd make a good couple?" The man shrugged and went to undress the mannequin.

Waiting for her to slip on the dress, Henry stared at the dressing room door like he could see through it. The green curve of her head bobbed in and out of sight just above the top of the door. "I can hear you pacing out there," she warned. "Stop it, you're making me nervous."

He made an effort to stand still. "Er. Sorry." He eyed the pants she dropped on the dressing room floor. "Do you need any help with the zipper?"

She snickered behind the door, the top of her head tilting so he knew she was looking down at something. "Keep your shirt on. I can handle it myself."

Henry neared the door and spoke just loud enough to be heard through the partition. "I apologize if I seem… overeager. My last date was ages ago, and this is the first time in a long while that I've had so much fun with someone else." He couldn't help but smile. "You're having fun, aren't you?"

She snorted. "Oh, sure. Getting stared at and insulted and nearly kicked out of that store was loads of fun."

"Admittedly today has proven to be an adventure, but we're spending time together and that's what counts. That's fun, isn't it?"

Her feet under the door stopped moving. Her voice softened into half a sigh. "Yeah." He saw a hand gather her discarded pants and disappear to hang them out of sight. "All right, I'm coming out." An edge came into her voice. "But if you laugh, I'll kill you."

Henry stood back and waited. "You have it on my honor as a gentleman." The door swung open and he caught his breath.

Brand winced. "Is it really that bad?"

"No!" He gestured to bring her closer. "You look radiant. But it's missing something. Stand still." He approached her, studying her from all sides. He hooked a claw in her hair tie and pulled, easing her hair out of the ponytail. She closed her eyes as he ran his hands through her hair, brushing it. "Perfect."

"Hardly." Her eyes searched his, full of skepticism. "All of your friends are more attractive than me. That's not a complaint, that's a fact."

"All of my friends," he said, taking her hand and leading her to a mirror, "came by their beauty unfairly. The X-gene, in many cases, bestows undeserved comeliness on the bearer." She looked away and he touched her chin to bring her back. "However, someone as well-versed as yourself in the details of my past would know by now that my feelings about what embodies the acme of beauty have always leaned towards non-mutants." He stood behind her as she faced the mirror, putting his hands on her shoulders, and they both stared at her reflection. Her lack of response troubled him. "In case you weren't aware, this is me trying to pay you a very sincere compliment. A reply would be appreciated." His forehead wrinkled. "Or is it that you just don't see in yourself what is so apparent to everyone else?"

She stepped away from the mirror, pushing his hands off her. "It's—it's a nice dress. Can we go now?"

He frowned, understanding. "Let me just pay for it." She headed to the dressing room. "No, I insist that you wear it out."

Once they were back on the street, Henry found Abigail uninterested in further conversation. She walked with her head high, but refused to even glance in his direction. He led her towards where the limo would be waiting for them, trying to draw a response out of her, but after enduring a few minutes of silence he cut to the chase.

"You really don't think much of yourself." Brand focused on the crossing lights on the other side of the street. "Those exes of yours did quite a number on you." As they crossed the street, he realized something. "Oh my God, have I—? When I rebuffed your initial advances, was I contributing to—"

"I really don't want to talk about this," she snapped.

They spotted the limo and headed towards it. "I'm just trying to better understand you, your motivations. You exude confidence when it has nothing to do with your personal life, but your lack of self-esteem otherwise is appalling."

She wouldn't let him open the door for her, and closed it as he moved to get in, forcing him around the other side of the vehicle. When he sat beside her, she shrugged, looking out the window. "I'm good at my job. That's a fact."

"But when it comes to a more subjective opinion, like your looks—"

Her voice was strained, and she sat with both arms and legs crossed. "I'm not the best judge of human standards, okay? It's just like heat or cold, I don't feel it the way everyone else does."

"Are you cold now?" he asked, inching closer.

She got quiet. "I'm always cold."

Henry moved his arm off the back of the seat and around her, pressing her against the fabric of his suit. He brushed the hair on the back of her neck aside and breathed on it.

She tensed. "What are you doing?"

Taking off his suit jacket and putting it around her before resuming holding her, he replied, "Making you warm."

She tried to push him away, but it was half-hearted. "That's not going to help."

"Maybe not," he replied, stroking her back, "but I believe you are in need of some comfort."

She put her forehead against his collar. "No I'm not."

He dared to kiss the top of her head. When she didn't pull back, he did it again just to prove he could. "Of course not. You are so preternaturally fantastic of a person that you couldn't possibly need someone around to reinforce the fact. Not at all."

"I shouldn't be taking this risk," she said into his chest. "Letting you in."

"In my own defense," he said, breathing in the scent of her, "I consider it a risk well worth taking."

"If you mess with my head, I'll break your legs."

He muffled a laugh against her hair. "Duly noted." He pulled back just far enough to get a good look at her. "Does this mean you like me again? Because I must admit, it's excruciating, trying to predict your receptiveness at any given moment."

"I…" she grimaced, gathering the strength to say it. "I never stopped wanting you."

"Then I assume," he said, his nose touching hers, "that I would not have to ask permission to kiss you."

Her eyelids fluttered, the lashes brushing his cheek. "It's worth a shot."

Henry unbuckled his seatbelt, then hers. Picking up her legs by the calf, he pulled them onto the seat. He took his time putting his weight against her, both of them stretching out on the leather upholstery. He touched his mouth to her throat, feeling her pulse hammer away. Then the underside of her jaw, enjoying the burn of her skin against his. Her cheek, both of them doing their best to breathe as silently as possible. The corner of her mouth. She turned her face against his, mouth open. His thoughts quieted in favor of pure sensation.

He wasn't sure how many minutes passed before the limo slowed and the driver tapped on the privacy window. Henry detangled himself enough to breathe into her ear, "I do believe that's our cue."

For the first time since they landed, her smile was sincere. "You're gonna need a mirror and a washcloth before we leave this car."

He sat up and touched the fur around his mouth, feeling the grease of lipstick. "Oh dear. How bad is it?"

She pulled a napkin from the minibar and scrubbed at his face. "Your mouth is pretty green, but the rest of it's not that noticeable unless you get close." He grinned, which didn't help her cleaning. "And next time," she added, "I get to be on top. Ah damn, it's on your teeth too."

"I'm just relieved to know there will be a next time," he said around the napkin.

The driver rapped on the window again. Brand sat back, surveying her work. "Not too bad. How about me?"

He adjusted her neckline. "Ravishing."

"I'll take your word for it," she said, opening her door and offering him a hand up. He took it and stood, his view of the street widening as he left the car interior. Thirty minutes before the show started, half of the audience was inside and the other half waited in a line that stretched down the block. At his appearance, the crowd outside burst into whispers, the word "actor" rustling throughout. Brand looked at him and he realized she had been smiling for the longest amount of consecutive time since they met. He squeezed her hand. "I think they have you mistaken for the wrong Beast. Got our tickets?" Henry grinned back, showing his fangs to the crowd, and showed her an empty hand. He shook it once and the tickets appeared. "Cute trick."

"I used to be better, back when I had ten fingers." He handed Abigail her ticket.

"Back when you looked normal?" She made a face. "Not interested."

He withdrew his hand from hers and slipped it around her waist. She still wore his suit jacket. "You'll just have to live with how lame my magic tricks are, then." They passed the box office and headed into the quietly decorated lobby. "Are you still hungry?"

She looked him up and down. "Not for food…."

He was glad his fur suppressed any signs of the heat he felt in his face as he handed his ticket to the usher. Unlike many people, the usher showed no surprise at his appearance, but delight. "You're Beast!"

He hoped the usher knew the show well enough to not mistakenly direct him backstage. "The X-Man, yes."

The usher's delightedly pushed a playbill and pen at Henry. "You're my friend's hero! Would you sign this for him? His name's Adam."

He took the playbill and pen and scrawled a dedication. "You see, Abigail, for all of the jeers I have endured, being a mutant, it's the little moments like this that make it worthwhile." He handed it back to the usher. "There you go."

The usher looked at Brand suspiciously. "Friend of yours?"

He felt a tinge of pride. "Date, actually."

The usher's face fell. "What?"

"She's my date," he repeated, and put his arm back around her.

"But… you're gay! You said so in a bunch of interviews." The usher looked at him in disbelief. "Your coming out was what convinced Adam to do it, too."

People surged past the three of them, but they were lost in silence. "Oh my stars and garters, this is awkward. I believe I may have… misled the public about that. A bit."

Brand smirked. "You're gonna have to draft up a new press release."

Horror dawned on the usher's face. "That's horrible."

"It's a long story. Where might we find our seats?"

The usher pointed with a scowl. "Row E, orchestra seating." He watched as they passed, adding acidly, "Enjoy your show."

She chuckled at Henry's embarrassment as they found their seats. "Always baffled me, a smart guy like you going and saying something dumb like that to the press."

He collapsed into his seat and sunk as low as it would let him. "It was back after Trish dumped me. I saw her again, and… she looked great. Better, happier than she had in a long time. It hurt." He sighed. "So I lied and said something meant to make her feel the pain I was experiencing. Obviously it didn't work, but when she ran with it I didn't want to admit the truth and seem petty. Besides, the possibilities of social commentary that such a convention as a gay X-Man would stimulate—"

"I think I get it." She crossed her arms and sat back in her seat. "I did something like that, once."

He was intrigued. "Go on?"

"Yeah, there was this guy, bodyguard to one of the ambassadors. Had a grand old time while his ambassador finished her business with S.W.O.R.D., then dumped me when it was time to head home." She licked her thumb to turn a page in the playbill. "Halfway back, our sensors pick up that their ship was caught by Shi'ar slavers. I rescued the ambassador and the rest of the crew, but let the slavers escape with him as their last prisoner." Seeing the look on Henry's face, she explained, "It was only for a week though! And he's all right now."

"Remind me not to anger you," he said, taking his arm off the back of the seat and folding his hands in his lap.

She patted his hand. "Don't worry, you're a citizen of the planet Earth. That means it's my duty to protect your well-being from the big scary aliens."

"Like yourself?"

She nodded. "You got it. I'd get canned if I so much as mussed your hair."

"Hmm." He considered it. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you equating a week of imprisonment, slavery, and torture to a simple lie."

She spread her hands. "Oh no, it wasn't any of that! I had the slaver ship bugged, they left him in the hold and even fed him while they spent the week on the run from the people they promised the slaves to. I just wanted to scare him a little."

"I still find your lack of scruples appalling."

Brand rolled her eyes. "That's the point of me hiring you, genius! You're a part of the team in exchange for keeping me on the straight and narrow." She leaned over the armrest, nearer to him, lowering her eyelids. "Come on, Professor." She put a hand on his thigh. "Teach me."

"I take my position as an educator very seriously," he warned. "I'm not going to sully it with innuendo."

"Oh come on," she snorted. "You don't think Summers and Frost include it in the little games they play?"

"The way they conduct themselves, I wouldn't consider them very good role models," he replied. The lights dimmed. "Oh, it's starting."

"I'm just saying—"

He shushed her. "It's time to shut that pretty mouth of yours so we can enjoy the show. We'll discuss my friends' preferred brand of perversions at a later time."

As the lights on the stage went up, Henry kept stealing glances at her profile as the actors sang and the prince transformed. She watched the act with captive attention. He smiled in the dark, where she couldn't see how pleased with himself he was, and put his hand on top of hers.

It was intermission before her attention left the stage. She blinked at him, looking a little dazed. "You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself," he observed.

She shrugged, trying to appear nonplussed. "It's… new. I've never seen anything like it before. The singing teapot is really ruining my suspension of disbelief, though."

"You never watched any Disney movies?" He was shocked, but knew he shouldn't be.

"Never crossed my radar." She fished her phone out of her boot and checked her messages. "Ah, damn."

"What's wrong?"

"Deems called," she said, frowning as she dialed a number. "I told him not to contact me unless it was an emergency." She waited a beat, then spoke into the phone. "Brand here. What's the trouble?" She listened for a moment and her face hardened. "I see. We'll be right there." She ended the call and put the phone back. When she turned to him, he saw that Abigail was gone, and Agent Brand was back. "Date's over. We have a situation to defuse."

Henry sighed as he followed her out of the theatre. "What a shame, I was going to take you to Chinatown too. But saving the Earth comes first, I completely agree." The limo was already waiting, and he opened the door for her. "What kind of trouble are they in?"

"A'askvarii pirates got a hold of one of our smaller ships. They have a bit of a hostage situation going down," she explained, sliding over on the seat so he could get in too. "Don't know if you've ever encountered them. They're green. Buncha tentacles instead of arms."

"Good to know," he said, closing the door behind him. As soon as the vehicle started to move, she was in his lap. "Er…?"

"Once we're in the air, it'll be all business," she replied, putting her arms around his neck. "But right now we're stuck in the backseat for the twenty minutes it takes to get to the base. Let's make it count."


	9. Chapter 9

For my Livejournal (waywardpug), I've been doing illustrations for every chapter. However, once I post my Chapter 10 illustration, I will have officially run dry for Beast/Brand illustration ideas. I need suggestions for poses, situations, anything I can turn into a black and white illustration typical of my entries! Comments are appreciated.

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Once they were in the air, Brand hit the autopilot and reached under her seat. "More guns?" Henry asked.

"No. I keep a spare couple of uniforms in here for emergencies like this. I'd appreciate having the gun I brought with me back, though." She threw a uniform into his lap. "There. Now strip."

"Excuse me?"

Brand undid the back of the dress and peeled it off without hesitation, stepping into her own uniform in what little room the cockpit offered. Henry couldn't help but watch her underwear slip in and out of view. It matched, meaning she had probably saved it for a special occasion. He didn't know the A'askvarii, but he felt a sudden loathing for their interference. "I spend a good part of my time working for S.W.O.R.D. in transport or fighter ships, going from one location to another. In case you haven't noticed, most of them don't have little niceties like changing rooms."

He was skeptical. "And you do this often?"

"More than I'd like. The people that work directly under me, maybe half of them have seen me in a state of undress." She took a pair of green sunglasses out of a case and slid them onto her face.

"…And they've seen you that way because you needed to change in transit, not any other reasons…?"

Even though he couldn't see her eyes, he could tell she was rolling them. "Hank. When there is an ex-boyfriend you need to be worried about, I will tell you. Personally, and in detail. Now, do I have to promise I won't look?"

Henry felt a little foolish as he unraveled his bowtie. "If you want to, I suppose—but you don't need to—er—that is to say we were probably going to see anyway." He tried not to make a show of changing, but it got significantly stuffier when he was in between pants. "Abigail, I understand that the many thrills of adventure and romance are sometimes overwhelming, but if you could dial the heat back a bit, I would appreciate it tremendously."

"Oh, was that me?" She smirked and punched a button for air conditioning. "Can't help it, knowing that with the new objective this is probably the nakedest you'll get all day."

"All the more reason for us to wrap this situation up quickly," he replied, trying to twist his arm around so he could reach the zipper in the back of his suit.

"Here, let me," Brand said, and he turned so his back was to her. She gripped the tab of the zipper, but after a thought took the opportunity to run her finger down his spine. He suppressed a shiver and she zipped him up. "Think you can put the utility belt on right this time?" A new window appeared on her screen and she examined it. "Someone's on our radar." She fiddled with her earpiece. "Peak, do you read me? Who's coming at us?"

The voice came through Henry's earpiece as well. "We had a standoff with the A'askvarii pirates and a couple of them split off. Are they in your line of sight?"

Brand worked on the controls. "Not yet. But—" She banked the ship hard to avoid a string of lasers.

"They're shooting at us!" Henry shouted.

She was calm. "Well yeah, pirates tend to do that. Man your weapons systems, McCoy."

"I thought this ship was transport-only."

The arch of an eyebrow raised above the lens of her glasses. "I won't even go on a date without bringing a gun with me. Did you really think I'd travel through space unarmed?"

"You went on a date?" the man on the other end of the communicator asked.

"None of your business," she snapped. "When they do the transcripts of this, I want that stricken from the record. McCoy, your weapons."

He turned to the screens on his side of the cockpit and opened up the targeting system. "Yes. Of course."

Brand squinted out the window. "We've got visuals." A ragged gray ship fired at them, and she steered them out of the way again. "All right Hank, the rest of the pirates are to our left, at ten o'clock. The Peak is at two o'clock. We're gonna corral them right into our station, figure out if we can get an exchange going. You copy, Peak?"

"We're sending some ships to rendezvous with you, make sure these guys get into our holding cells without casualty."

Henry released a volley of fire at the ship, far enough to miss but close enough to make it veer to the side. Brand increased their speed. Soon the Peak was within view, as well as three other ships, all aiming their weapons at the lone pirates. "Three ships? Three?! Is that all you could send?!"

"There are seven different off-station missions being headed right now, Commander, we couldn't send more than—"

"Screw that!" She set them on a collision course for the pirates.

"Abigail—"

"Shut up and keep firing, I know what I'm doing!" She hunched over the controls, teeth bared. "Three ships! I can't believe them sometimes. Gotta do everything myself."

"If you don't change course, we're going to crash!"

"Relax," she replied, "playing chicken is a standard maneuver. All we have to do is make sure we direct them into our net."

"Net?" he echoed.

"Conjoined tractor beams. Provided the dispatcher isn't an idiot—"

The man on the other end spoke up. "I resent that. Sir."

"—Then all three of the ships bound to meet us will be equipped for the tactic." She prodded the screens. "Peak, inform my ships and patch me through so I don't have to repeat myself." After a beat, she said, "Guys, did you read that? We're bringing the pirates to you."

"'We'?" one of the other ships asked.

"McCoy's manning the guns over here." They stayed on-course until the pirates finally gave, speeding unknowingly towards the trap. Brand grinned. "Got 'em." Three ships circled the pirates' ships, ensnaring them in a mesh of beams. "All right boys, knock out their weapons systems and take them in."

The dispatcher cleared his throat. "So you and McCoy…."

"Ask me again and you're out of a job," Brand snarled. She took off her earpiece and threw it on the control panel. "Buncha damn gossips. We have lives to save and they're more interested in who likes whom!"

"Maybe they'd have less to talk about if we made it official," Henry offered, then realized he was still speaking into his earpiece and took it off. "Oops."

"Made what official? We haven't done anything interesting yet!" She picked up the earpiece and spoke into it. "Don't crack the pirates' hull until I'm there. The first thing I want them to see is my face—at the other end of a very large gun barrel. Make sure they know we're serious." She put it down again. "For your information, I don't call anybody a boyfriend who I think might dump me. And since I've been dumped by boyfriends plenty of times before, I'm obviously not that good a judge. So let me be cautious."

"Then… I get all of the benefits, without the title," Henry reasoned.

"Maybe if you were less concerned with what's polite, you'd have gotten some of the benefits already." She eased their ship into the hangar. "Believe me, Romeo, you'll know when you're getting benefits."

There was a small crowd waiting for them in the docking bay. Brand didn't bother to stop and greet them before taking off in the direction of the captured ships. The crowd moved with her.

"Smith," she snapped, and the otter-skinned alien stood at attention. "Get the Thaumonauts working on a way to teleport the hostages away from the A'askvariis. We'll need personal items, hairbrushes maybe, from the lockers or rooms of all of the captives. Dreyfus." A balding man came to the forefront. "I want a channel cleared for the hostage negotiations if the Thaumonauts fall through." Dreyfus peeled away from the group and took off at a jog. "And Powell?" she continued. "Take Marybelle out of storage. I have a powerful urge to make these pirates wet themselves with their species-appropriate bodily fluids when they see us."

Henry had to walk fast to keep up with her. "Please tell me Marybelle is a piece of equipment and not a person. I know the your sense of the value of life is on the lower end of the spectrum, but imagining someone being kept in—in some sort of stasis chamber until they're needed—"

"Save the outrage for when I do something really appalling," Brand said, checking glowing screens as they were put in front of her face. They approached the captive pirate ships. "Scan for lifeforms so we know how many pirates we have on board."

"Already done." Someone handed her a printout of information.

"All right, we have eleven pirates total. Six in this ship and five in the other. Pop the locks and keep your weapons drawn. Where's my Marybelle?" Powell hurried over to her and handed Brand a wicked-looking weapon as long as her leg.

"Marybelle?" Henry asked.

"Marybelle," Brand agreed. "Used to be part of a Doomsday device before we remodeled it into a gun."

"How… creative."

Brand leveled Marybelle at the pirates' door. The rest of the crowd followed suit, drawing their weapons. Since he didn't have a gun, Henry tried to look threatening. "Let's open 'er up."

The doors slid open a crack, and there was a mass of clicking as everyone turned their safeties off. One by one, a ragged band of green pirates exited the ships.

Brand stepped forward, hefting Marybelle with one hand. "Guns on the floor." They did as she said, unbuckling holsters and sliding them across to where she stood. "On your knees. Someone do a scan to make sure they aren't hiding any more weapons." As a woman came forward, checking the readings on her handheld device, Brand got down on one knee, resting the nose of Marybelle on the floor. She eyed the pirate nearest to her. "Do you know who I am?"

The A'askvarii wouldn't meet her gaze. "C-Commander Brand."

"Good." She rested her elbow on one knee and leaned forward. "And if you know me, you must know the organization I head."

"S-S-S.W.O.R.D. The Sentient World—"

She stopped him by swinging the butt of her gun against his jaw. The crack echoed through the hangar. She stood over him, shouting. "If you're so smart, then you must have known how pissed off I would be when you capture my people! That any act of aggression towards S.W.O.R.D. is an act of aggression towards me!" She took the back of his head and threw him to the floor. "And that if you so much as looked funny in our direction, I have all the power and authority to hunt you down and—"

Henry took her by the elbow. "What are you doing!"

"Making sure my point gets across," she sneered. She turned to address the pirate again. "So tell me—"

"I won't stand here and allow you to torture a captive," Henry interrupted.

Brand's tone was ice. "They have my men."

"Then get their leader on the line and arrange an exchange! Don't beat up this man just because you feel like it."

"This is my show, McCoy, and I'll run it the way I—"

"No! You brought me on because you needed a conscience. I'm telling you, this is wrong." He crossed his arms. "Either this ends, or I leave. I won't be a party to it."

A muscle ticked in Brand's jaw as she considered. She sighed and turned to one of her men. "…How are the Thaumonauts getting on?"

A man tapped his earpiece. "They only need visual confirmation of the prisoners and they can pick them up."

"Where are our hostages being held?"

"Scans say the lead ship."

She handed Marybelle back to Powell. "Get their captain on the line. We'll have him show us that they're safe in exchange for his men, teleport them out, and shoot the pirates out of the sky."

"Abigail."

She scowled. "We'll chase them out of the quadrant." The small crowd stared at her and she clapped her hands. "Well, what are you waiting for? Move!" The crowd came to life, half of them separating to detain the prisoners and the other half to various jobs. Brand sidled up to Henry. "You make a decent Good Cop."

His outrage turned to disbelief. "You planned for me to object?"

She smirked. "It's just like playing chicken. Someone's gotta give in eventually."

"I'm… impressed."

She flashed him a smile too quick for anyone else to see, and followed the train of captives. "And don't call me Abigail in front of the crew. Unless we're off the clock, I'm 'Commander' to you."

He tapped his hand to his forehead in a mock salute. "Whatever you say, Abig—Commander."

There was a system of cameras and screens set up on the bridge that the crowd reformed around. The captured pirates were lined up, tentacles restrained, as a backdrop to where Brand stood with her hands behind her back. A scarred green face flickered onto the screen. "You have my people," she said.

"I could say the same to you, Agent Brand."

"Yes," she replied, gesturing to the row of pirates behind her, "and as you can see we have them here to prove to you they are unharmed. I expect you to do the same."

"My men are expendable," the captain shrugged, much to the dismay of the captives. "Yours, apparently, are not. I have a list of demands."

"Of course you do. But that doesn't stop me from wanting visual confirmation of their safety."

The captain nodded. "And you will see them. I want amnesty, to start."

Brand leaned over the control panel beneath the large screen. "No negotiations until I see my men."

He considered it. After a moment, the background swung dizzily around until the pirates' camera refocused on a group of two men, two women and an alien of indistinguishable gender. They all wore S.W.O.R.D.-issued uniforms.

Brand's head turned infinitesimally to the side. "Thaumonauts?"

The camera shook and flashed, and sounds of shouting in another language could be heard. When the smoke cleared, the five captives were gone. In another flash, the captives stood on the bridge, looking surprised.

Brand touched her communicator. "Brand to ships: aggressive maneuvers are a go." She turned her back on the screen. "Now that that's done with, I'm taking the rest of the day off, as ordered." She went to Henry and raised an eyebrow. "How about we go to my room and pick up where we left off in the car?"

"I like that idea," he replied. "But what about the pirates we captured?"

"Oh, the usual. Extradition back to their home planet to be tried, and—"

"Commander!"

"What n—"

She was cut off as a tentacle wrapped itself around her ankle and threw her to the floor. A loose pirate grappled with her, all six of his tentacles holding her fast. "I will not go back to that place!" he raged.

Henry looked to the nearest crew in a panic. "What are you waiting for? Shoot him!"

"Can't," a woman replied, "they're too close, we could hit the Commander!"

A tentacle clamped itself over Brand's nose and mouth. She elbowed the pirate in the gut but he refused to let go, twisting her head around to its limit. Struggling between the tentacles, she tore one glove off and gripped the offending tentacle with a glowing hand. He screamed, his grip tightening instead of loosening. Precious seconds passed as they wrestled—she was losing air.

Seeing Brand struggle less and less, Henry held his breath in horrified sympathy. She was strong, she would win. He was sure. But the pirate was overpowering. She managed to burn through one of his tentacles, but… her hand dropped, mid-fight. Henry barreled towards them, tearing at the tentacles with his claws. They were wrapped so tight, and Brand wasn't moving anymore. He sunk his fangs into a tentacle, tearing skin and sinew apart with his teeth. The human brain could survive for only a couple minutes without air. How long would Brand's last? He tore two tentacles off the pirate's body, but the others clung so fast they were cutting off her circulation. How long?

With a roar, Henry separated the rest of the tentacles from the pirate's body. The pirate fell onto his back, thrashing his head. Henry ran down the possibilities in his head. Restraint asphyxia could lead to brain damage. Comas. Death. He unwrapped Brand and put his ear to her mouth. She wasn't breathing. Panic burned through him as he put his hands against her sternum, pumping it. He put his ear to her mouth again. Nothing. Precious seconds. He tilted her jaw, clamping his mouth around hers and breathing. "Come on, Abby, you're stronger than this!" he cried. He pumped her chest again. "Come on!"

She let out a shuddering gasp. Blinking back tears, Henry circled her face with his hands, smoothing back her hair. "…Hank…."

He lifted her off the floor in a hug, and released her when he realized how rough he was being. "I'm so relieved you're… what are you looking at?" He followed her gaze. All activity on the bridge had stopped, and everyone watched them.

Brand scowled. "Back to work," she said weakly. "I said, back to work!" She winced and coughed.

Henry put an arm around her shoulders. "We need to get you to the medbay."

"No doctors," she wheezed, trying to stand. "They'll make me take more days off."

He helped her up. She was wobbly, but refused to lean on him. "At least let me check your vitals."

"You have your own equipment?"

"The rudimentary essentials…."

"Bring them and meet me in my room in fifteen."

When he arrived at her room, she was Abigail again, dressed down in a tee shirt and shorts. She lay curled on the bed, on top of the covers. He put down his suitcase and sat next to her, tracing a wedge of exposed skin on her stomach with his thumb. "How are you feeling?"

"What's the female version of emasculated? Cause I'm kind of feeling that." She turned her head into the pillow. "I'm not supposed to need saving."

He stretched out to face her, concern etched on his face. "I don't know what kind of people you're used to working with, but I signed on to work alongside you, which means I've got your back." He brushed her cheek and she closed her eyes. "Even more so, now."

"I should have been more aware of what was happening around me. Should've fought him off."

"You're only human, so to speak. It's all right to need other people." She grimaced into her pillow. He frowned. "Abigail, talk to me."

"You're not my boyfriend."

"I know."

"You're not my family. You're not even on the S.W.O.R.D. payroll yet. Hell, a few days ago you were telling anyone who'd listen how you didn't want anything to do with me!"

He propped himself up on one arm. "Ouch. But true."

"I mean, I don't even have any plans for you beyond using your body as my personal playground!"

He sat up. "Why are you saying this?"

She put both fists to her forehead. "Because how can I trust you if that's all you are to me? I can't depend on you to save my life! What if you're not there?"

He sighed and petted her hair. "Is that the issue?"

She turned over so she was half-sitting. "Of course that's the goddamn issue! You treat it like it's so easy to trust other people! How far has that gotten you, Hank? You left your team to run around in space with strangers because a woman you hardly knew told you that you had a connection!"

He put his chin in one hand. "Is that the worst you can do? I haven't stormed out the door yet, surely there must be some button of mine you can press to push me further away." She flinched. He lowered his voice. "Who hurt you so badly that you're scared to let anyone in?"

She raised her shoulders, high and tense. "None of your business. You don't know for sure, I might have a million friends. Maybe it's just you I can't trust."

He reached into his suitcase and withdrew a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. "Sit up." She sat up, but turned her head away. She used to be so bold, before he knew her secrets. He put in the earpieces and placed the disc on her back, under her shirt. "I am not a psychologist, but I've seen enough soap operas unfold in the X-Mansion and had enough people cry on my shoulder that I should qualify as one." He paused to listen, then moved the disc to a different part of her back. She wasn't wearing a bra. "So you are going to sit here while I do my little tests and listen to what I have to say." He tucked a stray hair behind her ear and heard her pulse quicken. "You need someone in your life who can prove to you that trust and security—and even happiness—is possible. Someone who won't let you down." He put a hand to his own chest. "So consider me to be auditioning for the part." He slid closer to her. "From now on, I am going to be unbearably dependable. A shining example of all that is good about the human race." He put a hand to her cheek. "If your life needs saving, I'll be there to do it. Or if you just need someone to talk to." Her forehead wrinkled as she raised her eyebrows. She was trying hard to believe him, he knew.

"I'm going to disappoint you." She sounded so sure.

"You're Abigail Brand," he replied. "You can do anything if you put your mind to it." He kissed her.

She stared up at him. "All those things you said… whether or not they're true, they're really getting me hot." She put her arms around his neck. "Make me some more promises."

He smiled indulgently and removed her arms. "For one thing, I promise to be a gentleman and not to put you any more strain tonight."

"You mean—?"

He pressed her into the pillows and pulled the covers over her. "Your vitals are good but I'm not taking any chances." Seeing her expression, he chuckled. "I know, it's frustrating for me too. But I promise you, tomorrow."

She sat up, looking as afraid as he had ever seen her. "Don't go."

"Abby…."

"Please." She patted the bed beside her. "We don't have to do anything. Just… don't go."

He took a moment to consider it, then nodded. Stepping into the bathroom to change into a pair of sweatpants, he returned and lifted the covers, sliding into bed with her. Her green eyes examined his bare chest with hunger, but she didn't push. He put his arms around her despite her intense heat and buried his face in her neck. She wriggled against him, pressing herself into every crevice until they fit together perfectly. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep like this?" he asked, his voice muffled.

"Staying up all night with you here…." She gave a little shrug. "It's a lot better than being alone and asleep."

"Mmm. Well, do try and get some rest."

Before he closed his eyes, he saw the curve of her cheek plump into a smile. "I promise."


	10. Chapter 10

Henry woke with a vague sense that it was morning. The starry window in Abigail's room disagreed, but it was always night outside. Disentangling himself from her and sitting up, he reached for the mobile phone on the bedstand and checked the time. He blinked at the blurry readout, unable to figure out why he couldn't read it until he remembered he wasn't wearing his glasses. Getting out of the bed as carefully as he could so not to wake her, he searched for them. It took five minutes before he remembered that he had placed them in a pants pocket, now folded and sitting on a chair. He perched them on the end of his nose and looked at the phone's readout. Six fifty-five. He needed a shower. Brand cooled off when she was asleep, but the sweat from holding her while she was still awake remained locked into his fur, unable to evaporate.

Gathering as many towels as he could, Henry went into the bathroom to deposit them somewhere he could reach from the shower. The first time he showered here had been rushed, but now he took his time in examining the toiletries, trying to get a better feel for the person who lived there. Taking a peek into her medicine cabinet, he was surprised by the lonely stick of mascara and pallet of eye shadow. As far as he knew, she didn't wear anything but lipstick. He found that too, shaking his head at the shade of green she chose. They would have to shop for something better together. Deciding he had enough of prying, he turned on the shower taps, fogging the small bathroom almost immediately. He stepped into the water, letting it comb his fur straight and smooth.

His ears pricked. It was hard to tell with the water rushing on top of him, but he could have sworn he heard the door open. "Hello?" He waited for a response, or the sound of feet on the tile, but there was nothing. He picked up the shampoo and squeezed some into one hand. A rustle. "Abigail?" Nothing but the sound of the shower. He smiled. She could be as stealthy as she liked, but nothing could fool his cat's senses. He pretended to go back to business.

As soon as he started ignoring her, she was there again, stepping into the shower behind him. She put her hands on his back, fingers knotting themselves in his fur. "Need a hand?"

He turned to greet her and she stepped behind him. He did it again, the fog making him dizzy, and she hid again. "For someone so keen on getting me exactly where you have me now, you certainly are eager to play games." He reached an arm behind him and grabbed her as he twisted around, forcing her to meet him. "Come here." Their mouths touched under the rush of water, then their bodies, pressing stomach to stomach. When they pulled away to catch their breath, he looked her over, appreciating every inch.

She fixed him with a skeptical gaze. "What are you doing?"

"Just making sure there aren't any other alien features that I've missed. Do you have a tail?"

"No!" She turned around to prove it. "Do you?"

"Thankfully, no."

She took the fur at his jaw and dragged him down to her level. "Good. Let's not waste any more time." They sunk to their knees, both sets of hands exploring each other eagerly. There was no sound but their breathing and the water.

Until Abigail's phone began to ring. She didn't seem bothered by it, but the urgency of the sound grated on Henry. He caught his breath. "Should you get that?"

She didn't even look in its direction. "Ignore it."

The phone rang twelve times, then stopped. A minute later it started again. "I hate to interrupt what is most definitely an enjoyable time, but maybe you should see who it is. They certainly seem to want your attention."

"I'm busy!" The phone stopped ringing and instead there was a series of loud raps on her door. She swore and stood up. "All right, I'll answer it," she said, shaking a finger at Henry, "but the second I am done, you and I are going to finish this. You can't just…." She paused and rephrased. "You know what? You don't even get a say."

Henry leaned against the lip of the tub and grinned. "I guess I have no choice but to submit to your will. Be sure to put on a towel before you open the door."

She walked away grumbling. Chuckling to himself and standing up in the shower, Henry went back to the laborious task of washing his fur. He heard the door between Abigail's room and the hallway slide open. "There better be an entire galaxy's worth of lives depending on the next words you say to me."

"It's war."

Abigail's voice changed, hardening into that of the Commander. "Tell me everything."

"It's the Kree and the Mephitisoids. Hala just sent its first wave."

"Do we have an estimate of the effect this will have on our diplomatic relations?"

"There's already pressure to choose sides, and we can't afford to lose alliances on either end."

"I need numbers!"

"We could call McCoy. Didn't you hire him for this kind of thing?"

Henry peeked his head through the bathroom door. "Sounds serious. I'll be right there." The two uniformed men at Brand's door exchanged a look.

She moved to close her door. "We'll be out in five." Turning to him once it was shut, she crossed her arms in frustration. "Now the whole station will be talking. Couldn't you let me lie and say I'll find you?"

He wrapped a towel around his waist and went to his suitcase. "They'd have to find out sooner or later."

"I'd rather it was later," she grumbled, pulling on her uniform. "I can't believe I thought I'd have some time to myself today. With that damn dinner party at four, we're going to have to work through lunch to get this war thing sorted out."

Not only did they work through lunch, but it was with thirty minutes to spare that they rushed back to Abigail's room to prepare themselves for the diplomats. As he worked feverishly with an iron to get the wrinkles out of his slacks, she struggled with her hair. After a few minutes of trying to get it to hang the way she wanted, she threw her hands in the air. "This is why I blow dry my hair! I told you it got stringy…."

He put the iron on its end. "Let me look." He took her by the shoulders and examined her. "Well, it won't do to leave it down. Have you ever considered wearing it in a braid? Give me the brush and turn around."

She squinted at him with suspicion. "You're trying to play dress-up with me again."

"Even if I am, it's always turned out for the best, hasn't it?" He worked on her hair and eyed the dress she laid out on her bed. "Oh no, you're not wearing that. You're wearing the one I got you yesterday."

"I knew it," she muttered.

"And the addition of a pair of nice flats instead of your usual boots wouldn't hurt the look. Just keep that in mind." He separated her hair into three sections and pulled them end over end.

"By the way," she said, "you know how I told you I'd tell you if you were about to meet any of my exes?"

He helped her into her dress and zipped her up. "I believe this is the part where I say 'Oh dear.'"

She nodded. "I'm telling you this because now that everyone knows we're… seeing each other… he'll want to talk to you. And he's as big of a jerk as I am."

Henry buttoned up his shirt, pushing stray hairs back through the buttonholes where they belonged. "He sounds delightful. If I may inquire, which species is he a member of, what caused the two of you to split up, and am I handsomer than him?"

Abigail ran her hands down the front of his shirt, smoothing the last of his wrinkles. "Luphomoid, he dumped me, and by human standards, maybe." She paused to scowl up at him. "I don't like it when you try to be sly about fishing for compliments."

"Actually," he said, choosing a bowtie and putting it around his neck, "I honestly wanted to know. If I'm looking for you to say something nice about me, you can trust me to be a little more subtle than that." He paused. "And what do you mean, 'by human standards, maybe?'"

She backed away, looking trapped. "I just remembered, I gotta check up on something! You remember which conference hall the dinner thing is in, right?"

"Abigail…."

She retreated into the hallway. "No, seriously, it's important! I'll see you down there. Don't forget to put on your translator, not everyone there will speak English."

She shut the door before Henry had time to object, leaving him to finish preparing alone. He sighed at his reflection in the window. Pursuing Brand was as difficult as any of his work protecting the Earth. Satisfied with his appearance with just minutes before the meeting of the ambassadors started, he pressed the translator into one ear and set off in search of the correct meeting room.

He knew he found the right one when he saw the congregation of different aliens dressed in finery streaming through a large door. He counted at least four different delegations of reptilian races, three insectoid, and countless humanoids. The odd grouping of most intelligent alien races into one of the three varieties captivated Henry as a scientist, and he was delighted to have the chance to see the three distinct types up close. He walked among them, enjoying the conversations' strange sounds while a moment later the translation whispered into his ear.

He scanned the room for Abigail as he entered it. Like in the main command rooms of the Peak, the ceilings were high, curving slightly at the top. Instead of the unadorned steel that shone in much of the rooms, the floor was carpet and wood and the walls were paneled. While normally finding her would be easy—just look for green—there were far too many other greens in the room for his trick to work. As he stalked through the room, Henry noticed that all the caterers were human. He wondered if they were hired professionals, or agents who'd gotten on Abigail's bad side. The corners of his mouth twitched, thinking of it.

As if summoned by his thoughts, she was there, cornered on the end of a buffet table by a pair of diplomats having an argument at her. She looked in need of saving. He listened as he approached while the orange oblong-headed man complained about the treatment of the four-eyed purple man's emigrants in comparison to the reception of his own. Brand was sour. He timed his arrival in the middle of a convenient pause for breath and put his hand on her shoulder. "Ah yes, we understand your concerns entirely, don't we Abigail! But I assure you, it is a part of S.W.O.R.D. law that we treat all visitors to the system equally."

"Unless they're trying to attack us," Brand added.

"Unless they're trying to attack us," Henry agreed. "So as you can see, gentlemen, your worries are completely unfounded, and any further complaints can be taken formally by any available member of the staff not currently attending this meeting. Thank you very much for taking the time to register your suggestions with us and we'll be delighted to speak to you about any changes implemented at next year's gathering." He pumped both of their hands energetically and led Brand away before anyone had time to process what just happened.

She looked at him with a rare expression of approval. "Not bad, for your first time."

"You looked like you needed help."

She turned up her nose. "I could've done it myself."

He put his arm around her. "Of course you could."

"Hey!" She pulled away. "Not in front of everybody!"

"Oh, they already know. And it wouldn't hurt to show a little public affection once in a while to prove you're still capable of human emotion."

She crossed her arms, annoyed. "My house, my rules. Nothing cute in front of the people I work with, you got that? Now go get me something from the buffet table."

"What do you want?"

She headed off in the other direction and shrugged. "Whatever. Pick something out that looks good."

Henry went through the selection, choosing items with the most interesting visual appeal. If nothing else, it would be fun to watch her try to eat the little pod that floated tethered to the plate by a stem, or the bacon-skinned noodle things that wriggled. He picked up a pair of chopstick-like objects at the end of the table that he hoped were utensils, and once again searched the crowd for her. In his searching, he nearly dropped his plate when he walked into a powerfully built blue-skinned alien, but made it away from him with some semblance of dignity.

She was in a corner, speaking sternly to two S.W.O.R.D. agents. When the agents saw Henry approach, they shared a knowing look. Abigail's face fell, sensing who was behind her. "All right," she said to the agents, "you know your orders. Move out." She watched them leave the room before turning to Henry. She picked at the plate he brought. "Don't you know when someone's trying to tell you to get lost?"

"If I told you the outcome of tonight was dependent on how well you acted towards me at this little get-together," he said through a smile, "you would treat me like a king."

"You better not hold that over me," she warned. "I'm your boss, I could make you do all sorts of humiliating things." She popped a shelled object into her mouth. "Have you tried these? They're really good."

Henry tasted one. The moment it touched his tongue, the world seemed to lose its balance. "Did you drug me? What is this?!"

She smirked. "It's a regular dish they serve at these kinds of things. Is the sensation too strong for you?"

His sense of order returning, he scowled. "You're trying to escape me by drugging me."

"It's not a drug, it's a food. And you should be thankful. These dishes will have all sorts of effects on you, and that was just a little bit of what they can do." She hid a grin and ate another. "Not so bad, see?"

"Warn me next time." He scanned the room, suddenly conspiratorial. "Do you know if your ex is here yet? I want to get a look at him."

Her smile faded. "Yeah, he's around."

"Well, where is he? What does he look like?"

Brand put her hands up. "Don't worry. Now that you've made your interest in me obvious, he'll come looking for you."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Because of you? I thought you were dumped."

She looked pained. "I was. Look, when he wants to make himself known, he will, and I'm sure you can quiz him about the gory details. But for now can I just have a moment before I have to listen to these idiots shout at me again?"

He cleared his throat. "Of course, of course. Here, what on this plate can I eat without some sort of strange effect?"

She pushed several pill-shaped things towards him with two fingers. "You can have these."

"What do they taste like?"

"Ever had that pasta that tastes like chocolate?"

Henry squinted, trying to recall. "Do you mean molé? That's a sauce. And you don't put it on pasta."

She waved her hand. "Yeah. It's like that, only different." She picked one up and put it on her thumbnail, flipping it into the air. In the instant it hung above her she stepped forward, catching it in her mouth.

"That's quite a talent."

"Some years, honing my skills catching stuff in my mouth is all I do." She paused. "That came out wrong."

He couldn't help but snicker. "Seeing your file, I wouldn't be all that surprised if it was true."

She hit him in the arm. "Hey!"

"Don't worry, I won't hold it against you," he teased. "Hell, I'll probably disappoint you. You have a whole universe of experience to pull from, and I've been Earthbound all this time."

Her expression softened, and her hand rested briefly on his. "You never disappoint me."

He reached for her. "Abigail…."

She stepped back just quickly enough to avoid his touch. "Ambassador with an axe to grind's coming my way. Stay here and hold him off, okay?"

Before he could even manage a "Wait," she vanished into the crowd. He watched in the direction she disappeared for a moment, hoping to catch a glimpse of green, but she was gone. Locating the diplomat chasing her, he stepped in front of a wrinkled alien who looked a lot like Sydren. "May I help you?"

"Out of the way," it squawked, putting an arm out to push him away. "I'm not here to be accosted by a Mephitisoid. Go back to your petty wars."

"I'm afraid you have me mistaken for another species," he said, countering the alien as he tried to move around him. "I'm an X-Man, and a representative of S.W.O.R.D. Is there something you wished to discuss with the organization?"

The ambassador was petulant. "I want to talk to Agent Brand!"

"She's indisposed at the moment. I could, however, bring someone from records here so you can have a message formally logged."

The alien scowled. "You are stalling me. I wish to see her now."

"What if I promise to send her in your direction the next time I see her?" He gestured to the crowd around them. "Because at the moment, I am not entirely sure where she is."

He fixed Henry with a look of skepticism. "You would do that for me?"

"Without a doubt," he promised.

"All right. I expect to see her before this is over."

"You have my word." They nodded to each other and the ambassador left. Henry let himself feel a moment of pride. This would only go to show Abigail what perfect boyfriend material he could be. He could handle anything, if she asked him. His moment of ego over, he looked around. Now it was his turn to search her out. Walking through a clump of similarly-dressed aliens, he found himself near the tall double doors that led to the rest of the Peak. They were worked to look like carved oak, but somehow he doubted they were as simple as they seemed. He had a hypothesis that any room could seal out a vacuum if the right buttons were pressed. They were slightly open and he could hear strains of a conversation float through them.

"—Really slumming it lately."

"Like you even compare." That was Brand's voice. Henry's ears pricked and he moved closer.

The other speaker laughed. "As if I need to! I know your tastes, and you must be pretty desperate to even think of picking up a human."

"I don't have to listen to this crap." Henry peeked through the double doors. Brand stood with the gray alien who nearly knocked him over, hands on her hips and glaring up at him.

"No you don't, and yet you seek me out instead of the other way around. You instigated it, and we both know why."

"I really don't. Enlighten me."

"You miss me. You miss what we had."

She let out a wild laugh in reply. "I can't believe what I'm hearing! You dumped me, buddy, and don't you forget it."

"I haven't exactly been begging for you back if you've noticed. I'm just offering an honest opinion."

"You were staring at us the entire time! You looked like you were going to break something!"

He held up his hands. "You never called me to tell me you'd found someone new. I came here thinking our arrangement was still going to be upheld."

Brand was apoplectic. "Did it ever cross your mind that I might finally be sick of your mind games, Dax?! That maybe I'm trying to develop a little self-respect, something I can do without your help!"

Henry knew if he didn't step in soon, she was going to hit the alien, and not in a joking way. He took a few quick strides into the corridor and caught her elbow. "There you are, Abigail! You ran off on me." He looked to the alien, pretending to notice him for the first time. "Is this fellow bothering you?"

She pushed a few stray hairs behind her ear and looked away. "Not anymore. Let's get out of here."

The alien fixed him with a look of curiosity. "You're Henry McCoy. An X-Man."

She lowered her voice. "Don't talk to him. Don't make eye contact with him. Don't even act like he's there."

"Abby hired you into a top position from outside the organization, didn't she?" He put his hand to his chin. "Don't you find it demeaning that you are essentially being paid to act as her boyfriend?"

Henry put a protective arm around her, and this time she didn't move away. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was hired based on my professional qualifications." He looked to her for confirmation, and saw for the first time a sign of shame on her face.

"Was that before or after she decided she wanted you?"

"This—this topic of conversation is highly inappropriate," he managed. Her arm was ice cold. "It's really been something to meet you and all, but there's an entire roomful of people demanding our attention and we must get back to it." He moved to turn around, but she was rooted to the spot, head down. "Whatever you two had, you need to accept that it's over and leave us alone."

As Henry forcibly turned Abigail around, the alien laughed heartily. "She didn't tell you? Before you came around, she was begging me to be her date for the night."

The alien was starting to get on his nerves. "Look," he said, turning around and jabbing a finger into his chest, "I don't know where you get the impudence to harass two people who are clearly better off without you in their lives, but it needs to stop. I'm asking you nicely just one more time. After that, I will throw you out myself." He took a step back, closer to Abigail, and smiled so the alien could see every sharp fang. "So let's all make this more pleasant for everyone by ignoring each other for the rest of the evening." He eyed the alien. "Do I make myself clear?"

"I'm just trying to warn you!" he protested, following them as Henry marched Abigail back towards the room. "Has she told you what she does to men who dump—" He stopped just short of walking into them and looked up. The tall double doors were closed.

Henry tried his hand at opening them, but they wouldn't budge. He ran a claw down the place where the doors met. They were sealed shut. "Is there some sort of event going on in there that we are inadvertently missing out on?"

She pulled a communicator out of a hidden pocket and attached it to her ear. "Brand to Peak. What's going on with the doors in the lower-level meeting hall?" She frowned, listening to the response. "Engage the aggressive defense systems and get a trace on 'em. If they're doing this now, that means they've got a mole somewhere close, telling them when everything goes off. Keep this line clear until you get back to me on who's causing this." She touched her communicator, then turned to the men. "Someone's remotely activated our airlock system and sealed the room off. That means they're trying to hold a galaxy's worth of important people until they either set something off from the inside, or extract them from the outside." She produced a pair of guns. "It'll take ten minutes to bring the equipment down to forcibly breach these doors, which means until then we have to work to find an alternate route before something bad happens."

"Where… did you even hide those guns…."

"Focus, Hank." She sighed and turned to the alien. "And Dax. I don't want to ask you this, but we're going to need more than two people to cover all the bases." She raised an eyebrow. "For old times' sake?"

Henry was outraged. "Did you even hear half of the things he said about you? I won't work with someone who would so blatantly belittle you!"

"Don't have much of a choice," she replied. "Dax and I ran some missions on his planet together, back in the day. I hate him, but we work well together."

"I'm on board as long as the cat stops giving me death stares," Dax offered, reaching under his tunic to produce a gun of his own.

"Right, follow me." She set off down the hall, the two men on either side. "Let's crash this party."


	11. Chapter 11

By the time you read this, Astonishing X-Men #33, featuring the lovely Agent Brand, will be on the shelves! Go pick up it and S.W.O.R.D. 1&2 and support an awesome character!

This story is winding down, and I must say it's been a pleasure to write it and know it's being read. Comments are as always encouraged. And now for your enjoyment, a super-sized chapter of Gravity. After this there's just one more to go--HOWEVER, I will be starting on a new Brand/Beast story immediately after this one, so keep your eyes peeled!

* * *

Henry mulled over their situation as they made their way to a side entrance. "What kind of people would want to make a statement by killing a roomful of ambassadors?"

Dax looked at him like he was stupid. "I thought you were a genius! Aren't there anarchist organizations on Earth?"

"That's jumping to conclusions," Brand said, leading them down another hall. "Could be they're just targeting one alien among the many and it would look better if all of them were taken out. Or someone might just want to make S.W.O.R.D. look bad." She set her deadly gaze in Dax's direction. "At least Hank has the excuse of not working on an intergalactic scale very much. You, on the other hand, know better. What's your excuse?"

Dax ignored her comment. "You should give your furry friend one of your guns. I notice he came unprepared, did you skip that part of the training for him?"

"I don't use—"

She thrust a gun butt-first towards him. "Just take it."

"I honestly believe it would be better off in your—"

She put it in his hand before he could protest further. "Don't argue, okay?" Breaking into a jog, she led the men to the end of a corridor, where a lone door stood. "I don't know if either of you boys were paying attention to the layout of this place, but this door is—"

"An auxiliary entrance into the hall designed for use by the event organizers," Henry stated. He approached the panel to the side. "Of course, considering it's locked down we can assume that pressing any buttons will be useless." He touched the wall. "How much heat would it take you to punch a hole to reach its machinery, Abigail?"

She smirked at Dax. "And that is why I like him better." Turning to the wall, she ran her hand over it. "It's well within my range." She placed both palms flat against the wall as they started to glow. "How big of a hole do you want?"

"Enough so I can see around my hands." He glanced at Dax, trying not to look too smarmy. It was difficult. "You wouldn't happen to have a flashlight on you, would you?"

Dax was unimpressed. "Why would I carry a flashlight?"

Henry shrugged. "I thought it was part of the preparedness you were chastising me about not having. Clearly—"

"Hey," Brand spoke up, "save the pissing contest for later. I'm through."

Handing her his gun, Henry approached the still-melting hole and peered through it. "I'm going to try and rewire the door, but somehow I doubt that S.W.O.R.D.'s systems are unprepared for a forced breach." He put his hands through the hole, twisting the insulation off of several wires. "What are our other options for finding a way in?"

Dax's gaze drifted to the ceiling. It was lower here than in the meeting hall, low enough that someone could reach it if they were lifted up. "The life support systems."

"Neither of you would fit," Brand said, watching Henry's progress closely. "If I went in alone, our only choice would be to split up and I don't have any more communicators on me."

Henry pulled his hands out of the hole. "Then we'll have to figure out a plan of attack well in advance, because rewiring the door isn't working."

She put her hand to her forehead. "All right. Here's what we—"

"You try to drop into the room and open the door for the inside for your blue friend to get through," Dax interrupted. "I'll grab my ship and patrol from the outside."

"And how sure are you that there's something outside even worth looking for?" Henry snapped. "How do you know they haven't set off a poison gas instead?"

"If Abby makes it into the vents and doesn't die, we can assume it's not a poison gas," Dax sneered.

Seeing the expression on Henry's face, Brand stepped between them. "It's a solid plan and the only one we've got. Dax, go do what you have to. Hank, could you give me a lift?" He did so grudgingly, hoisting her onto his shoulders and holding her ankles steady when she stood. After a moment where the only sound was melting metal, she said, "I'm glad the plan involved him leaving and you staying. I'd much rather work with you." Another pause, and she added, "Besides, if I was on Dax's shoulders he'd probably look up my dress, and he doesn't have permission. You do, though."

"Oh yes, and what an inconvenience it would have been if Dax had made that decision for us instead of this one." A piece of melted metal fell just inches from his ear.

"Look, I know I took his suggestions from time to time, but that doesn't make your ideas any less—"

"You didn't even argue! You let him walk all over you when you two were fighting in the hall, and you're doing it now. You're supposed to be a leader!"

She stopped what she was doing. "You heard us?" Making the hole big enough to get through, she hoisted herself into the vent. "Look… Dax is a forceful guy. Once upon a time, I liked that about him."

Henry leapt at the ceiling, pulling himself up so he could put his head in the vent. Brand crawled away from him, allowing him to admire her backside, but it didn't lessen his annoyance at her. "You could have told me you still have feelings for him."

She tried to look over her shoulder, but the vent was too small and she hit her head. Rubbing it, she said, "I don't! Believe me, I don't."

"Then why don't you stand up for yourself?!"

Her sigh echoed. "It's a long story."

"That's not an excuse! You don't have a problem arguing with me!"

"You don't make me respect myself less!" she snapped. "You were with someone who made it obvious that she didn't completely value you for a long time too, you should know what it's like!" She stopped and put her ear against the side of the vent. "If I burn through the wall here, it'll be a fifteen-foot drop."

"If he didn't value you, then why were you with him at all?"

She sat on her heels, the ceiling of the vent forcing her head low. "Hank, you are a great guy. The fact that respect is one of your top priorities when trying to enter a relationship is proof of that. But not everyone grows up with the same set of values as you. I need you to shut up now so I can make my entrance without anyone noticing." She put her hands to the wall of the vent, melting through into the meeting room. Quietly, she added, "When you meet my father, you'll understand." She looked through the hole. "Hold up. Can you pass me those guns? There's five gunmen and I think I can take them out."

"If they see you, it'll be all too easy to—"

"I have good cover here. Despite the ease with which I melt through it, the walls are actually pretty thick. They'll withstand a couple blasts."

"I don't know…."

"Hey." Her voice softened. "Trust me." He shook his head and slid the guns to where she could reach them. Brand laid herself along the vent, taking careful aim. She squeezed the trigger and Henry heard a distant cry. "One." She changed the direction in which she aimed, and pulled the trigger twice more. "Two. Three." The vent echoed with a blast. "Damn! They saw me!"

"I told you it was a bad idea."

"No," she said, positioning herself behind the cover the vent wall provided, "a bad idea would be dropping into that place now that they're pissed, making myself a target and saving countless lives they would've wasted if they didn't have me to shoot at."

"Which is what you're thinking of doing."

"It's down to two gunmen and a ship outside the big window. I can handle it."

"I fully believe you can, but I'd be a little miffed if I couldn't get in on the action. Be sure to open the door for me so I can take at least one of them down, would you?"

At this angle he could see the amusement on her face. "Definitely." In one movement, she slipped herself through the hole and dropped down. He could hear shouting and guns going off. He let go of his grip on the ceiling and dropped to the floor, anxiously staring at the door. Would she be all right?

It slid open to prove that she was. Through the doorway he could see the diplomats huddled in fearful clumps away from the shooters, who sent a blast in his direction. They both dodged. "Come join the party," Brand offered, and returned fire.

Henry checked the room as he entered it, but he only saw one gunman and the ship outside the room's large window, now initializing some sort of forced docking procedure with the Peak. He took cover and searched for the second gunman. His eyes fell on the buffet table. The gunman was either using that, or hiding among the diplomats. He stalked along the side of the table, staying low and unseen. His heightened senses pinpointed the second shooter immediately. He neared where the gunman hyperventilated on the other side of the table, counted to three, and plunged his hand under the tablecloth. There was a cry, and he pulled a leg out from underneath. Not bad, but he could have done better. Judging by the length of the leg, he reached in his second hand where the gunman's belt should be and dragged him under the table. They scuffled under the tablecloth until a blast from the outside singed his fur.

He pushed his head out from under the table to find himself at the end of a gun barrel. "Drop your weapons," the first gunman commanded.

"How about you drop yours?" A new gun tapped the gunman's ear, and Brand was behind it. "Hank, you want to tie your guy up? Or kill him. I don't really care which."

The standing alien dropped his gun. "Killing us won't matter. How long will a roomful of people survive in a vacuum once we breach the wall?"

"Not gonna happen," Brand said, picking up his gun. Henry tore a long strip from the tablecloth and set about tying the aliens together.

"Oh? Then what about our ship outside? Once we come through, just two people can't stand against a shipful of—" He stopped talking when Brand applied pressure to his throat and he slid to the floor.

Henry gave her a look. "What!" she protested. "I don't like people talking back at me! He'll wake up in the few hours." She eyed the ship floating outside, which now had a tubular walkway sealed against the window. They would be coming through any minute. She turned to the crowd. "If you haven't had your asses saved by me before, I'm the Commander of this little dinner party, and right now I command you all to evacuate through the side entrance we've conveniently opened for you. Thank me later." Seeing their reaction, she added, "Walk calmly, dammit, don't run! Someone's going to get crushed after McCoy and I worked hard to save all of you!" She looked in his direction. "Speaking of which, since Dax is apparently useless at the one thing he said he'd do, I'd appreciate any genius ideas about how not to get this entire room sucked out into space." Eyeing the walkway tube from the ship, she added, "Time is a factor."

Without looking up from tying his final knot, Henry said, "Baked potato."

Brand cocked her head. "What?"

He stood, dusting off his hands. "It's the simplest casualty-free solution. Once they breach the hull, you walk in and heat the ship from the inside. Everyone passes out, the walkway is still sealed tight against the wall which means an easily fixable breach. Plus you get a free ship out of it."

She nodded, pursing her lips. "Not bad." A resounding crack made her turn her head. "Time to get started."

With a woosh, a large oval of glass was sucked into the walkway of the spaceship. Brand leveled both guns at the aliens who walked out, only waiting to fire once they bottlenecked through the freshly-made entrance. She took them down, cool as ice, but something about the way she did it made Henry think she was being gentle for his sake. She shot off hands and kneecaps, but didn't make a killing blow unless she absolutely had to.

With the greeting squad dispatched, Brand set off towards the ship immediately. "I'll need a copilot for this thing," she said, one foot in the walkway and one still in the Peak.

"Even if you didn't, I'd follow you. I've got your back, remember?"

A half-smile twisted up one corner of her mouth. In the brief moment, Henry paused to admire her. A dozen aliens taken care of and not a hair out of place. She raised an eyebrow. "You coming?"

"I'll wait until you take care of the ones inside."

She shrugged and entered, her skin already glowing blue. "Suit yourself."

The next few minutes were spent moving in and out of the stiflingly hot spaceship, dragging unconscious aliens out and binding them together. "You know," Henry said as they hefted an especially large alien through the walkway, "the way you glow when your body temperature rises is very attractive. I wonder if there's a way to isolate that property."

"Yeah," she snorted, throwing the alien onto the floor with the others, "that'll do wonders for our anonymity. Animal Man and Glowing Gal." She kneeled to help him secure the strips of cloth around the alien.

"At least our color schemes would finally match," he pointed out. That made her smile. "How many more aliens to drag out before we can call this a win?"

"One for each of us," she said, already starting back into the ship. He followed her. However, just as Henry stepped into the walkway, the ship rocked.

"What the—"

This time, the entire walkway shuddered. Henry was thrown against the side, his weight causing it to detach from the window. A furious wind whipped around him as the vacuum of space sucked the air out of the ship. He clutched the walls and pressed forward, moving slowly. Brand touched her communicator. "Brand to Peak, lock down the meeting room! The seal is broken! I repeat, lock that damn meeting room down now!" The vacuum was harder to struggle against than he expected. He was within arm's reach of her and the airlock, but he was tiring. "Hank?" She stretched out a hand, bracing herself against the door at the end of the walkway. He reached for her, fingers brushing before he lost his footing and was dragged along the floor by the suction. He could see the panic in her eyes. "Hank!"

"Close the airlock," he barked.

"Not without you!" She stretched farther into the walkway, hair pulling loose from its braid and flying around her face. He dug his claws into the cushioned material of the walkway, dragging himself forward inch by inch. But not far enough.

"Do it! I'll angle myself to try and make it back into the Peak!"

"That's a stupid idea!" She reached for him, stretching as far as she could. There were just inches separating them. "I won't risk your life!"

Making a final lunge forward, Henry caught her hand. Throwing all of her weight backwards, Brand pulled him into the airlock, Henry falling on top of her. She stretched out a fist and punched the button to close the door. For one breathless moment they clutched at each other, somewhere between terror and relief.

She regained her composure when she stood up, though her hair was still wild. "Don't ever try to play the hero again," she snapped. Calming down a little, she added, "You really scared me."

His fresh brush with death energized Henry to near-giddiness. Alien ambassadors and space rescues, suddenly it seemed so glamorous. He circled her face with his hands and put his forehead against hers. The heat of the ship hardly bothered him—he was just glad to be alive. "You always scare me," he replied, half laughing. "Knowing you have some semblance of human flaws is the only reason I am not completely intimidated by you."

"You! Intimidated by me!" She put her arms around his neck. "You could rip me in half." What might have been a kiss was turned into a painful clash of nose against chin when the ship rocked again. Brand swore. "Almost forgot someone was shooting at us."

"Nearly getting sucked out into space will do that, I suppose."

She made her way to the control room, Henry close at her heels. An alien came flying at her from the side with a cry. She rolled with the momentum, sending him into the wall at the last moment with a powerful kick. "Guess the last two are up and about," she muttered, taking out her gun. The ship tilted crazily, sending them and the newly unconscious alien into the wall of monitors. She jumped into the pilot's chair when the ship righted. "Hank, keep an eye out for the last guy on this ship while I try and figure things out." Her hands danced across the monitors, all of them lighting up at once. "Peak, we're on the ship. Who's shooting at us?" She scowled at the answer.

"What did they say?" Henry asked, dumping the unconscious alien into a gun closet and locking it.

"Whoever it is, they're on radio silence."

"Dax?"

"Who else," she groaned. "Should've just left him standing in the hall." She opened up a communications screen and shouted at it. "Dax, if you shoot at us one more time, I am going to kill you! I swear right now in front of everybody, I am going to cut you into tiny bits and feed them to those horrible maggot-bison your planet has!"

Dax's face appeared on the screen, unimpressed. "So you managed to make it into their ship? Well, good for you." He paused to watch Henry find and disable the final straggler.

"Your shooting destroyed the seal between this ship and the Peak! You nearly killed Hank!" She was so angry she was standing up, raging at the screen.

"I'm sure he was able to make it to safety just fine. He looked like a capable guy. So capable, in fact…." Dax fixed her with a piercing stare. "How much of his help did you need to pull this off?"

Brand's face colored. "You know what? You're a—" She was cut off by a crash on Dax's end. His screen flickered out, leaving Brand holding onto a fading rage. "Dax?"

Henry checked the monitors. "We're getting transmissions from a pair of ships. I don't believe they know this ship's been taken over."

Brand put her thumb to her lower lip. "Think I should convince them we're still on their side by taking a shot at Dax?"

"Abigail!"

She shrugged. "Just an idea."

Henry flicked a switch and a shrill chittering sounded on all sides of them. "Please tell me you know what they're saying and how to respond appropriately."

Touching a button, Brand gave a reply. She turned to Henry. "As far as they know everything's gone smoothly, except for the appearance of Dax." She sat down in one of the pilot's chairs and nodded Henry into the other. "This time, I'll man the weapons."

Henry settled in at the controls. "Thank goodness. I don't like the way you drive."

Brand tapped the communications monitor as they neared the other two ships. "Dax? Are you dead yet?"

He flickered back onto the screen, looking significantly worse for the wear. Several panels were knocked off the inside of his ship, exposing delicate wiring. "Still alive, no thanks to you! Why aren't you firing at them?!"

"Hank, take us in close. Dax, you need to learn a little patience." She looked over her weaponry, thinking. "There's guns on the sides and the front of these ships, but nothing on the back."

"Getting into a formation with the other two would allow us to shoot them from behind," Henry offered.

"I'm on emergency power here! If you don't save me I'll set the Luphomoid armies on you!"

Brand didn't reply, concentrating instead on readying the weapons systems as Henry flew them closer to the other two ships. "Are you really going to let him talk to you like that?" he asked.

"If he keeps running his mouth, he might run out of oxygen. Which would be great." As they pulled behind the other two ships, she eased the guns into position. "If you want to make a run for it, Dax, now would be the time." Her eyes flickered in Henry's direction, who gave her a little nod. The two ships sped up in front of them as they pursued Dax around the curve of the Peak's wall.

Henry eased them back far enough that only one of the ships was visible. "Now?"

Brand gripped the controls, fire in her eyes. "Now." She sent off a volley of shots that glanced off a Peak window. She growled and tried again, this time connecting with a wing of the ship in front of them. It took five blasts before there was any visible damage. "They have shields! Do we have shields?"

"We do, and they're deployed." Soaring past a number of windows, Henry could see people stop what they were doing and watch the chase. He banked around an outcropping, putting them in view of both pursuing ships as well as Dax. He was slowing down. "If he stops running, they'll turn on us that much sooner."

"Dax, report!"

The communications screen stuttered. "Abby… if you don't stop playing games and save me…."

"She is doing her best!" Henry snarled. He swung the ship out wide so Brand could make another series of shots. "If you lived up to even half the faith Abigail has shown in you, recruiting you for this, maybe you wouldn't be in need of saving! What have you even done for her, aside from chipping away at her ego?!"

Brand took aim at the ship's other wing. "Easy, tiger."

A piece of machinery broke off the ship and Henry swerved to avoid it. "Why should I stand idly by if you're not going to defend yourself?!" he demanded. The ships in front of them began to turn away from the Peak, doubling back and heading in their direction. "We've been spotted."

Brand muttered something in another language. "I thought we'd have more time than that!" She grimaced. "We could rush them to get behind them again."

A string of shots came in their direction and Henry turned hard, pressing them both into their seats. "I don't think this ship allows for such sharp turns like what you're talking about." Another series of beams came in their direction, and one connected with the window, cracking it. "I'm doing the best I can just dodging their attacks!"

"Dax," Brand said, "if there ever was a time to prove your worth, now would be it. You're in position." She focused the guns on just one of the ships, chipping away at it piece by piece. "Hank, can you hold this thing any steadier?"

He pulled out a wide turn, away from the Peak and into open space. "Not if you want us to survive." Another blast connected with their ship, making it shudder. Henry checked the readouts. "Shield is still up, but we can't take many more direct hits."

Brand glared at the ships in front of them. "We won't have to." She fired three more times and one of the ships faltered, an electrical fire blooming to life in its cockpit. "I don't think we can save these guys. You cool with that?"

"I'll li—" A shot to the nose of their ship threw them backwards. "Shields are faltering, we won't have them much longer."

"Get us closer to the Peak so we have some cover."

Before there was time to react, the remaining ship hit them twice more. Warnings sounded on the monitors. "Shields are out. If we're hit again, we may have to bail." He sniffed the air. "Is it me, or is it getting harder to breathe?"

"Looks like they damaged the life support," Brand said, baring her teeth as she fired over and over again at the ship. Only a few shots connected, and their shields were still strong. "We've got minutes." A blast came from behind the last ship, and Dax's vessel came into view. "Finally!" She redoubled her efforts on taking out the last ship. The volley of fire was coming on all sides of them now. "Hank, I know I said it'd be good if we were a little steadier, but I didn't mean to stop dodging completely!"

Henry found it hard to think. He was dizzy, and steering a ship in a void where there was no real sense of 'up' didn't help. "Abigail… I have to tell you something."

"Oh, no. Save the big confessions for when we get out of this deathtrap."

He squinted out the window. "It's not that. But I think… I think I may pass out shortly."

Worry crossed her face, but she squashed the emotion quickly. "Just hold on a little longer," she urged. "It's two against one now, this won't last." She and Dax circled the last ship, picking it apart. "Hank, you still with me?"

The crack in the window was getting bigger. Henry could feel the air pressure changing. "Not for much longer."

She bit her lip, looking from the ship to Henry and back again. "All right. Set us on a collision course with the other ship."

That woke Henry. "What? No!"

They barely missed another shot. Brand stood up from her controls. "Do it. Set the autopilot. Set it now or I'll do it for you."

There was a crash of machinery falling somewhere behind them. "I will not go out like this!" The shouting made him gasp for breath, his vision blurring.

Brand shook her head and bent over his console. "You think I would let us die so easily?" She tapped in a few commands, then worked on heaving Henry out of his chair. "Come on, big guy! Get up!" He did as she said, leaning so heavily on her that her knees buckled. The ship in front of them got closer and closer. By the time she settled him into a new seat and strapped him in, he could barely see. She murmured as she secured the doors of the escape pod. "Don't worry Hank, you'll feel a lot better soon." There a shower of sparks outside the pod, and Brand strapped herself into her own seat.

"We're… going to crash…."

"No," she said, and he felt the thrum of an engine beneath him. "We're getting the hell out of here." The locks holding their shuttle to the main ship disengaged and they parted ways.

The two doomed ships were too close in the shuttle window for Henry to feel comfortable. A blast sizzled in their direction. "Doesn't this thing go any faster?"

"Nice to see you're still with us," she said drily. "I'm going as fast as it'll let me."

Henry watched the window, transfixed, as the ships met nose-to-nose then crushed farther, blooming in a silent explosion. "Oh, no no no… it's coming too fast!"

Brand aimed them towards the shuttle bay. "We will be fine!" she said, but it was through gritted teeth. The escape pod jostled as they were buffeted on a wave of debris. The steel joints of the pod shook and whined as it was pelted with remains, big and small, of the two destroyed ships.

"Something fell off! I heard it fall off."

"Calm down, McCoy. We are fine!" She checked the controls. "Or not."

He looked over her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

She grimaced. "Let's just say our landing won't be very pleasant." She spoke into her earpiece. "Brand again, McCoy and I need an intercept before we crash and burn."

"You say that so casually," Henry said. "Tell me, does this happen a lot?" Another piece of debris jolted the cabin. The shuttle bay of the Peak loomed close.

"Only when you're around," she replied. A piece of machinery moved into position at the entrance of the bay, a glowing field flickering on inside it. "I normally don't have such bad luck." She steered the pod towards the field. "Brace yourself." Machinery rained into the bay around them and the glowing field expanded until it filled the window.

Entering the field forced a sudden deceleration, throwing Henry against the back of Brand's seat. She stuck her arms out, preventing herself from a collision with the control panel. The light was blinding. Henry sat up, rubbing his neck. "You didn't warn me about whiplash."

As the pod was eased to the floor of the shuttle bay, Brand unbuckled herself and turned around in her seat. "It's an occupational hazard." She stretched an arm out and ran her thumb along where it hurt. "Need a trip to the infirmary?"

"No, I've seen enough of that place." He put his hand on top of hers. "Don't we have plans for tonight, anyway?"

She gave him a sly smile, fingers twining with his. "Oh yeah. Big plans."

Henry leaned towards her just as the pod jolted against the bay floor and winced. "Can we get out now? I'm sick of getting thrown around."

Brand turned around and pressed on the top of the pod, opening a hatch. Before she got out, she looked over her shoulder at him. "By the way, you did good."

Only a few people waited to speak with them this time. A man holding a clipboard stepped forward. "The ambassadors' party has been moved to—"

Brand held up a hand. "I don't care where they're having it. Make sure the drinks table gets restocked every hour."

"You're not going back?" the man asked.

She turned to Henry, who closed the pod door behind him. "You'd think saving everybody would be a good enough excuse not to return."

He shrugged. "You nearly got blown up defending their lives. I think they'll be understanding."

"True," she said, waving the man away. "What's next on the agenda?"

"Just a few procedures that need your initials," a woman said, putting a glowing screen in front of Brand. "Your schedule was cleared for the rest of the night because of the diplomats' arrival."

Brand took the screen from her and scrolled through it, tapping it in the appropriate places. "Lucky for me I got called away. All of the exchanges you have here are acceptable, but I want this subsection of treaty rewritten and on my desk by tomorrow. There's too much ambiguous wording."

"Yes, Commander."

The woman went to an exit, leaving just the two of them. They exchanged glances, both knowing what came next but neither quite sure what to say. Abigail broke the silence. "So."

"So," he echoed.

"I'm going to turn off my phone," she said. "And your phone. And lock the door. And aggressively arm all defense systems on my floor to shoot anyone who so much as thinks of bothering us." The corner of her mouth twisted upward. "Somehow I don't think it'll be enough."

He took her hand and looked at the spaceships surrounding them. "We could go to Earth and get a hotel room. No one has to know."

She led him to the bay exit. "I can't wait that long."

"Utility closet?"

She rolled her eyes. "I do have some semblance of self-control—" She stopped short. Someone blocked their way. "Dax." She dropped Henry's hand.

Dax stood in the middle of the hallway, arms crossed and eyes narrow. "Running off to pat yourselves on the back for being the big heroes?"

Her tone was curt, but she wouldn't look him in the eye. "You survived? Well, good for you." She tried to sidestep him, but he countered. "Get out of our way, Dax."

He pushed an accusing finger in her face. "You would have let me die out there."

"Shame you're too incompetent to even do that successfully," she muttered.

"You left me to die! You intentionally marginalized me, you left me to fend for myself against the—"

"Enough!" she snapped. The hand that once held Henry's was balled into a fist. "You need to leave me alone!"

"You didn't used to be like this! What happened?"

"I gained self-respect!" she snarled, advancing on him. "You and so many other guys treated me like a thing on the side, and I believed it!"

"Abby—"

"No! Shut up! And don't call me Abby!"

"I'm reporting you to the S.W.O.R.D. council for unfair treatment!" Dax warned, backing away.

Henry saw her hand raise before he could react. "Report this!" Her fist connected with his nose with a dull impact, blood flowing before she even pulled away.

"My nose!"

Abigail flicked her hand to rid it of the droplets. "Go ahead and report me." She turned to Henry and offered him her other hand. "Come on, Hank."

Dax let them pass, cursing, and she led Henry away with her head high. They walked the corridors wordlessly for a few minutes. "That was a bit much… but I'm proud of you."

"I don't need you to validate me," she replied, but her skin was warm.

"Good. You shouldn't." He squeezed her hand. "It doesn't stop me from being glad, though."

They stopped at her door and she turned around, taking a deep breath. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. A little lightheaded maybe, but better."

"And there are no emergencies that you'd have to suddenly leave to attend?"

He put his hands on her waist. "They can wait."

"And…." The last one was the hardest for her to ask. "I'm not pressuring you, right? You're doing this of your own free will?"

He backed her against the door and their arms locked around each other, pressing there for breathless minutes. Pulling far enough back so he could look her in the eye, he smiled. The lines of worry erased themselves from her face. "Is that a good enough answer?"

She returned his grin and punched the code for her door, hooking a finger in the knot of his bow tie and dragging him after her. He reached for the light switch. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"I, er…." He stared at his hand. He was so used to turning off the lights when things got intimate that it was a habit. "I'm not entirely sure."

"Let me make myself perfectly clear," Abigail said, pushing him onto the bed and sitting on his legs. "Other girls might have their hangups, but I'm not other girls. I like you the way you are, remember?" Her hand brushed the fur along his cheek and she leaned over him so they were nose to nose. "So let's leave the lights on."

And they did.


	12. Chapter 12

This being the last chapter, I want to thank you for reading my story to the end. I hope it has been as enjoyable reading material as it has been to write it. I would really appreciate knowing how effective the story was as a whole, so comments would be appreciated.

My next story will feature the same pairing, taking place after Henry McCoy takes his leave of absence from the X-Men and officially joins S.W.O.R.D. I will post the first chapter next Wednesday, so keep your eyes peeled! And once again, thank you for reading.

* * *

Henry woke up first, stretching to life as discreetly as possible so not to disturb Abigail. He felt good, better than he had in a long time. He knew whom to thank, and rolled onto his side to admire her. She lay on her side, looking serious even as she slept. Spotting a blue hair stuck to her collarbone, he reached over to pluck it off. As he bent over her, she suddenly changed position, her foot connecting with his knee in the process. He winced, more out of surprise than pain. If she was a restless sleeper, that would be something he'd have to get used to. She turned over again, and an elbow to the stomach made him reconsider. Maybe it was for the best that they had separate rooms.

Seeing her turn her face into the pillow made him realize what this was. "You're awake!" he accused. "I saw you smile." She responded by curling so she took all of the covers. Henry sat up. "I'm giving you fair warning, two can play at this game." She responded with a theatrical snore. "That's it." He threw the covers off her and circled his arm around her waist, picking her up off the bed. "I'm throwing you into the hall."

That got her attention. She struggled in his grip as he crossed the room, but he held her clear off the floor. "What? No!"

"Maybe it will teach you the lesson that if you try to play games with me, I'll play them right back," he said, shaking his head in mock seriousness. He put her in the doorframe, a finger hovering over the button to slide it open.

Abigail stretched out and clung to the sides of the frame like a cat. She was in a state of mild panic. "If you do this, I swear you will spend the rest of your time here scrubbing toilets!"

Henry grinned, though she probably wasn't kidding. "I don't believe you. What would be keeping me here? I might as well go back to the X-Men a week early."

She tried another tactic, eyebrows raising in what nearly was pleading. "Hank, don't throw me out. Please?"

He released her and she sunk to the floor scowling. "You took all of the fun out of it." He turned back to the bed, but seeing that she stayed where she was, he sat on the floor with her. He reached out and she crossed her arms, backing away. "Oh, don't be like that. I didn't mean it and you know that."

Abigail turned her nose in the air. "Now you've pissed me off."

He rolled his eyes. "No I haven't."

"I'm the commander of this place! Even threatening to kick me out of my own room naked is an act of insubordination."

"Oh no, what ever shall I do to make it up to you?"

She took a lock of fur in each hand and brought him back to the bed. "I have a few ideas."

Despite it being a Saturday, Abigail had a couple hours of work to do. Luckily, none of it involved leaving the room, so they delayed getting out of bed for as long as possible. While she leaned on Henry and typed away on one of S.W.O.R.D.'s ubiquitous glowing screens, he pressed in a pair of earbuds and fiddled with his MP3 player. He needed a playlist for the good mood he was in, but none of his carefully selected mixes matched. He chose some instrumentals and closed his eyes, enjoying the presence of another person so close to him. Without looking up from what she was doing, Abigail extended a hand to stroke his hair.

She studied a list of numbers on the glowing screen. "How many people do you want under you?"

"Just you. I'm a serial monogamist."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Not like that. I mean for research."

He opened his eyes. "You're giving me a team? That's very—"

"Practical," she interrupted. "You're a smart guy and just running missions with me would bore you. Don't want to deprive the world of your latest discoveries." She typed some numbers onto the screen. "I'll put you down for six, and we can expand on that later. There's a whole digital library of alien biochemistry I'll set you up with. Should be helpful."

He put an arm around her, looking over the projected budgets she was working out. "Why aren't you my girlfriend yet?"

"You're awfully speedy for a guy who wanted to take things slow," she said, but there was amusement in her voice. "Give it time."

"May I at least call you Abby?"

She didn't smile, but the look in her eyes was happy. "You've earned that." They both turned their heads at the insistence of Henry's phone. "What ringtone is that?"

He got out of bed slowly. "A little number from La Boheme."

"The opera?"

"Do you know any other?" He looked over his shoulder as he approached the table where his phone lay. "One of these days you will enlighten me on how you can be completely unaware of Beauty and the Beast, yet know Les Miserables and La Boheme." She shrugged and he checked the caller ID. "It's Scott. I didn't know he had this number…."

"Sent it his way when you arrived. Professional courtesy. I thought we turned our phones off last night."

"We did. I turned mine back on after you fell asleep."

She put the glowing screen down. "You fell asleep before me! You were snoring."

"My dear, have you ever known a cat to snore? You were dreaming of me. Which is very flattering, I might add." He put the phone to his ear. "Hello, Scott. How are you this fine day?" He paused to listen to the reply. "All business today, are we? Fine, spare me the pleasantries and get to the point as you are inevitably about to do." He was silent for a moment. "What?" Scott repeated himself. "But… I'm here for another week." His face fell as Scott continued. "No, I understand, it's a perfectly legitimate reason to ask… but so soon? I hardly… yes, I see your point…." Abigail sent him a questioning look and he shook his head. "Yes, Scott. Goodbye." He put the phone down.

Abigail's face was composed, but it didn't hide her concern. "Don't tell me. He was asking you to come back."

Henry sat down heavily on the end of the bed. "Demanding is more like it."

She slid over the covers next to him. "What did you tell him?"

Henry looked at his hands. "There wasn't much to tell—he hardly let me get a word in edgewise." He sighed. "I have to go back tomorrow."

She stood up. "What?!"

"He said they needed a scientist—"

"One without a spine?" she demanded. "You could have told him no!"

"I didn't have a chance! And… they need me."

"Oh, they need you," she echoed. The anger drained out of her face; she was putting up her walls again. "Then by all means. You got what you came for, now it's time to go." Her voice dripped acid.

He stood up too. "I'm not like that!" It was nearly a cry. "You've read my file, you've gotten to know me more personally than I can say for most people. I would never!" She turned away from him to open the bureau, and he caught her by the shoulders. "Abby…."

She shook him off. "Go back to your X-Men. I'll find someone else to fill your spot." She picked out a tank top and shoved it on.

He reached out for her again, but she was too hot to touch. "What can I do to prove you I intend on coming back? Is there something of mine I could leave with you? Some promise I could make?"

She thought about it, then went to her screen, punching up a new document. She pushed it into his hands. "Sign this."

He examined what it said. "This is an—"

"Enlistment contract. Sign it, and you're guaranteed to work with S.W.O.R.D. for three months minimum." She crossed her arms. "If you're willing."

"I…." He caught her look. "I was expecting something a little less professional, to be honest." He scrolled through the articles. "Isn't this a lot of commitment for someone who doesn't want to be bound by the titles of girlfriend and boyfriend?"

"I never said never," she muttered. "Sign it or don't. Your choice."

"Obviously not, as it seems to be the only thing that will settle you down. But," he said, taking her stylus and putting it to the screen, "I would be delighted to pull double-duty with S.W.O.R.D. and with the X-Men, if it means being able to see you more often." Handing it to her, he spread his arms. "Does this make you feel better?"

Abigail inspected the contract to make sure he didn't miss anything. "It's just a precaution."

Henry couldn't help but smile. "You were really worried, weren't you."

He might have believed her lie if not for the guilt that flashed in her eyes. "No I wasn't."

He put his arms around her. "Were you jealous of my friends wanting my attention? How terribly sweet."

Her posture was rigid against him, refusing to give in. "I was pissed because I have to do extra paperwork. Can't pay you for two weeks when you've only put in one."

He put his nose on her neck. "You're lovely when you lie."

"Yeah?" She smirked, relaxing against him. "Then I don't like you at all. I don't think you're the smartest guy I've ever met, and I definitely don't think you're sexy."

"And I don't find myself liking you more and more with each passing day." He squeezed her and she put her head against his collarbone. "Is like enough for now?"

"It's all I ask for," she said, closing her eyes.

Henry made a conscious effort to stop his fingers probing under the edges of her shirt. He wasn't used to her enough to want to stop admiring her, but he had other plans. "I find myself in need of some air. Would you like to take a walk with me?"

She lifted her head. "Where to? You don't know the layout of the station."

"I don't know," he said, releasing her so he could find a shirt of his own. "Show me something I've never seen before."

"Like I haven't already?" She saw him make a face and made one in return. "That wasn't innuendo."

"Come on, Abby, this place is the size of a small city. Surely there must be wonders enough for one little walk." He dipped a hand into the bureau and threw some underwear at her head.

"Fine, fine."

When they were both dressed she put her hand on the doorframe, motioning for him to follow her into the hallway. He met her at the door, crowding her. "I know the rules for when we're on the clock or in public around strangers, but am I allowed to be affectionate towards you in the station, on a day off, around people you know?" Going into the hall, he continued to test how far her personal space extended as they walked by edging closer and closer until she moved away. "I'm not asking because it's going to affect my actions, mind you. I just want to know how annoyed I can expect you to get before you inevitably give into my charms." She made a rude gesture at him and he laughed. "Just hold my hand." He held it out to her. "I don't bite! Unless requested."

She groaned as she led them through some of the larger command centers. "Are you always this annoying, or am I special?"

"Oh, you're very special." A couple people stopped working to stare at them. Abigail glared but Henry flashed them a smile. "You'd all agree that the Commander is a special woman, wouldn't you?" he asked loudly, taking delight in how mortified her expression was.

"Don't answer that! Get back to work!" She got behind Henry, both hands on his back as she shoved him out of the room. "You are going to embarrass me to death."

"You knew what you were getting into and now you have to deal with the consequences. Should I call you pet names instead? I can be quite creative when thinking up terms of endearment."

"Spare me," she groaned. "Take these stairs."

Henry meant to say more, but the view at the top of the staircase took his breath away. The curve of the earth glowed in the gigantic, starry windows, marbled with swirling clouds. It wasn't until Abigail sat down behind a sleek desk that he noticed there was anything else in the room. "Is this… is this your office?"

She leaned back in her chair. "Great view, huh? Some days I come in here when everyone's giving me a hard time, or tired from my latest run-in with this galaxy's scumbags, and I'll sit down… and just look." She spun the chair around so she was facing the window, which Henry estimated was easily fifty feet tall. "If this was the only good thing about being Commander, it'd still be worth it."

He crossed the translucent floors to lean against her desk. "I didn't expect your office to be so grand."

The earth and stars reflected in her eyes in perfect miniature, and Henry realized she was the happiest he had ever seen her. Casting her thoughts back to her surroundings instead of the view, her sublime expression faded. "Not my decision. This has been the Commander's office for as long as the Peak has existed. S.W.O.R.D. used to be more of a boy's club—I'm the first female head. But not the first who wasn't entirely human." She opened her arms to the rest of the room. "The previous Commanders liked the grandeur. I'd be fine with a cubicle. But the view…." Her look of happiness returned. "I worked my ass off to get where I am, and I love that view like a mother."

He put a hand on her shoulder and she didn't move away. "That's a beautiful sentiment, darling."

At his last word she snapped out of it, brushing his hand off. "Call me something cute again and I won't give you a ride home. I'll just cram you in a missile and aim for your school."

"Petty threats," he scoffed. "Any other special features I should know about in this magnificent office of yours?"

"The desk displays up to fifty interactive holographic projections at once." She punched up a series of three-dimensional diagrams of alien anatomy. "That's cool, right?"

Henry walked around the desk to stand beside her, transfixed on the projections. "Move over."

She furrowed her brow. "What? Why?"

He levered himself closer with an elbow. "That chair looks big enough to seat two and I want to get a closer look at this."

"No way! This is the Commander's chair."

He tried to push her to one side of the chair, but she held fast. "And I'm the… actually, what am I?"

Abigail shrugged. "Didn't give you a title. Wanna be my secretary?" She put her feet on the desk. "You could take notes and sit on my lap when I've had a long day."

"Now who's harassing whom? I should be your science advisor."

"Already got one of those." She changed the displays to monitors of what was going on elsewhere in the Peak.

"A lesser man might feel a touch of jealousy!" He leaned over where she sat, grinning at her with all of his teeth. "I could be your first science advisor, and you could bump your other one down to number two. I am, after all, one of the smartest human beings on or off the planet."

She was unimpressed. "You're trying to get me to play favorites."

"You're damn right I am! If you're running off to this other science advisor all the time, then how can I possibly spend quality time fighting galactic threats with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Bag a guy once, and he wants to spend the rest of his life with you."

He waved a finger at her. "You were the one who wanted the contract. You're crazy about me."

"You wanna fix me! That means you like me more."

"You haven't been able to keep your heart rate under control around me since the day we met!"

She leaned back in the chair. "We're doomed to be hopelessly in like."

"It would be useless to fight it."

They shared a tiny, knowing smile. He reached to touch her shoulder but stopped, hesitant of how far she would let him go. She scanned the room, then raised her hand to brush his. Henry took a step closer. "Would you object if I kissed you right now?"

Abigail weighed the possibilities. "We're in my office. But not on the clock. People could see it. But half the station thought we were together from day one." Her forehead wrinkled as she considered. "Okay. Just this once." She raised her face up at him and closed her eyes. "Be quick about it."

He sat on the desk and leaned over her. "Henry 'Beast' McCoy takes his time where such important matters are concerned."

She wrinkled her nose, lowering her voice as he came closer. "You never listen."

"Only when you're paying me," he murmured, holding position with his face an inch from hers. "Otherwise, you can expect to get your way about fifty percent of the time." He brushed her cheek with his mouth. "That's considering a margin of statistical error at about ten percent." He brushed her other cheek. "Which means you might get your way anywhere between forty and sixty—"

Just as he leaned to kiss her, she stood up and stepped to the side, causing him to stumble. "Sydren!"

"Er… Commander." Sydren and Abigail stared at each other in mild horror. "I was jussst retrieving a—"

She ushered him around to the desk drawers and unlocked them. "Take what you need." She fixed him with a dangerous look. "You were never here, got it?"

"I sssaw nothing," he agreed, rifling through a stack of files.

She stood over him for an awkward minute as he sorted out what he wanted from the rest of the files. "That everything?" she asked.

"Not quite," he replied, eyes still on the drawer. "I will let you know when I am finished. There isss no need to look over my ssshoulder."

"Right." She took a step back, still focused on what Sydren was doing. "How's the injury?"

He tensed. "Jussst becaussse you essscaped unharmed doesssn't mean we didn't do the job to the bessst of our—" After a pause, he swiveled his head around to look at her in disbelief. "Were you actually asssking after me becaussse you wanted to know?"

She gave a confused shrug. "I guess?"

Sydren turned to Henry, eyes full of suspicion. "What did you do to her? Ssshe's never cared before."

Henry glanced in Abigail's direction. She refused to look at either of them, a touch of pink coloring each cheek. "I've been working to set a good example." To her he said, "That was very sweet. See how people appreciate it when you're nice to them?"

"Whatever," she grunted, crossing her arms. "Just wanted to know when he's coming back to work."

Sydren neatened the stack of folders he set on the desk, then put them under his arm and stood. "Whichever methodsss of therapy you are inflicting on her, they ssseem to be working." He turned to Abigail. "I wholeheartedly approve." She scowled at him. "Have a nicssse weekend, McCoy. Commander."

She held her breath until he walked down the stairs and out of her office, then let it out in a tortured sigh. "What are you turning me into! I'm never gonna live that down."

He patted her head. "You did very well. Who knows, you might actually make a friend." She slapped his hand away. "Let's go back to my room."

Her mood changed in an instant. "You Beast! You're insatiable."

"That's not what I meant," he chuckled, ushering her away from the desk. "This is the last full day we have together for a little while, and we should spend it as best we can." She still wore a devilish expression, so he continued. "What I meant to say is that we're going to unearth that keyboard and have a piano lesson." Seeing her eyebrows raise, he smiled. "Trust me, you'll enjoy it."

Watching the Earth expand below their little ship twenty-four hours later had Henry and Abigail at a loss for words. There was so much to talk about and learn from each other, but the solemnity of his leaving S.W.O.R.D. for the X-Men made it difficult to start the conversation.

Abigail guided them down while Henry checked their bearings. Seeing an anomaly, he broke the silence. "The X-Mansion is north of where we're headed," he observed. "Are we going somewhere you didn't tell me about?"

"Lunch." She flicked a series of switches and checked out the window to gauge the speed of their deceleration. "My treat."

Looking out the window with her, he recognized the surroundings. "This is the same place you met me, to pick me up."

She nodded, not looking away from what she was doing. "I gotta get back to the Peak when lunch is done. Work to do. I arranged for a car to pick you up after and take you the rest of the way."

His face fell. "I won't get to take you back to the mansion?"

The craft floated to a rest in its designated space. "Yes, that is what I said." She opened the cockpit and got out.

"I wanted you to meet my friends," he said, following her to the door of the bar.

"We've met. They hate me, remember? You used to, too." She scanned the room for a table.

He caught her arm before she could go any farther. "That business was between the X-Men and Agent Brand. I want you to meet them as Abigail, the woman I am interested in. I think you'll find the change in attitude quite dramatic." He rubbed her shoulder with his thumb. "Now cheer up. We still have a whole lunch to spend together, and it just wouldn't be complete without your smile." He touched her cheek and she pushed his hand away. "Please?"

"Nothing to smile about." She located a table and took a seat. "With you gone, the number of people who like me decreases by a hundred percent. You'll be running around with the X-Men and I'll go back to being the butt of the jokes my crew thinks I don't know."

Henry reached across the table to take her hand, which lay limp and unresponsive in his. "You have plenty of reasons to be happy! You're a beautiful, smart, and accomplished woman."

She turned up her nose. "None of that ever made me feel good."

He brought her hand to his mouth. "You have the man you want following you around like an overexcited puppy."

"That's okay…."

He smiled in her stead. "Liar. You love it. What about punching out your ex? Surely that is cause for celebration."

She twisted her mouth around, trying to hide the satisfaction in her eyes. "It was pretty cool," she agreed. Their waitress approached, then stopped in horror. They recognized each other. "Barmaid—"

Henry took the waitress's hand. "What a nice coincidence, to be served by you again. You did an excellent job last time."

The waitress's eyes slid from side to side as she planned an escape.  "Uh… yeah…."

"I promise we won't cause any disturbances this time." He held up three fingers. "Scout's honor."

Abigail cocked her head. "Were you a Boy Scout?"

"I was! I can still tie all the knots, which comes in handy more often than one might expect." To the waitress, who halfheartedly offered them menus, he said, "The tilapia platter, if you please. Abby?"

"Wings. Hot as they come. And…." She gave Henry a suspicious look. "You gonna stop me if I order beer this time?"

"No. I'll have what she's having."

"Good." She brandished her menu at the waitress. "A pitcher and two mugs. Local. Got it?" The waitress nodded and skittered off, leaving them alone together. Abigail leaned back in her chair and met his eyes, waiting for him to restart the conversation.

"I'm not choosing them over you, you know."

She shrugged, her expression stoic. "It'd make sense if you did. You've known them longer."

He squeezed her hand. "Yes, but none of them are willing to sleep with me. I think it's fair to say you get high priority for that alone."

She made an effort towards not showing pleasure at the remark. "It just goes to show you're making a poor judgment. Not thinking with the head on your shoulders."

"Are you trying to talk me out of seeing you again? Because it's not going to work."

"Just playing devil's advocate. You should be able to analyze the situation from all sides before you make a decision."

He laughed. "You're fishing for compliments! I thought you didn't like it when I did that." The waitress placed the pitcher on the table and poured them each a mug. "If you must know, I find your leadership less disagreeable than Scott's, your figure more attractive than Emma's, and your odor far more pleasing than Logan's. Does that make you feel better?"

She avoided answering by taking a swig of beer, and he matched her. Putting their mugs back on the table, he saw her facade crack with a tiny smile. "You have a thing." She pointed to her mouth. "Right here."

"Right where?" He put a finger to his cheek. "Here?" She moved her finger so he moved his, never exactly to where she pointed. "Maybe you should get it."

She leaned across the table and wiped the foam off his lip with two fingers, then licked them. "Much better." She paused before she sat back down, surprising him with a swift kiss.

"Our waitress must think we're crazy," he said, watching her settle back into her seat.

"We are. But how would she know that?"

"You must not remember how we acted here just a week ago," he replied. "We had a terse discussion, then I yelled at you." He grinned at her. "Now we're holding hands and kissing."

Abigail put her palm to her chin, hiding a smile behind her fingers. "Who cares what a barmaid thinks? We have other people to worry about impressing."

"Like my friends. When can you come to the mansion?"

She shook her head. "That's a lost cause."

"Abby, please. I know they'll be more receptive, if only you let them."

She pursed her mouth. "I'll come, but only because I wanna see your room. And you have to play drums for me."

"I'll write you a song."

"What would you call it?"

"'Abigail, My Spacefaring Princess.'"

She snorted. "That's the worst name I ever heard."

"I know! I wonder what it will sound like."

"Guess we'll have to find out." Her hand tightened around his. "Next weekend?"

They beamed at each other. "I can't wait."

They left the bar holding hands. Only standing out on the street did they remember to take their eyes off each other. Henry's ride idled on the street. Their hands parted and they stood by the car, neither knowing what to say or do. Henry broke the silence. "Abigail—"

She shook her hands at him. "Don't. Nothing melodramatic."

He took a step towards her. "Then should we…?"

She eyed the driver. "I don't know." Her forehead wrinkled. "We ought to do something. I just don't know what." Thinking about it some more, she gestured for him to get closer. "C'mere."

They wrapped their arms around one another, holding each other long enough that the driver looked out the window and tapped his watch. Henry kissed a spot above her eyebrow before releasing her. "I'll think of you."

The corners of her mouth twitched. "So will I."

"But our days will be full to bursting to keep us occupied."

"We won't miss each other."

"Much," he corrected.

She couldn't help returning his smile. "That's what I meant."

"So…."

"Goodbye," she interjected. "For now."

"For now," he agreed, getting into the car. As the car revved to life, she stood on the curb watching, thumbs in her pockets. The expression on her face made him wish he spent a little more time reassuring her that nothing would change in the week between when they saw each other next. Once the car pulled out of its parking space, she turned and walked away to her ship. He was glad she didn't watch him until he was gone, if only so she didn't know that was exactly what he was doing.

When she was out of sight, he turned around in his seat to face the front and sighed, thinking of stars. He would much rather be returning to the Peak than to the mansion. The exhilaration of budding romance aside, Scott's decision making lately tended to raise moral qualms in Henry. At least Abigail was trying to be less ruthless, even if she did need reminding, but the X-Men under Scott's leadership headed in the opposite direction. Death-defying missions in space took his mind off it, but now he had plenty of time to dread the arguments to come. He shifted positions in the backseat. Something in his pocket made it tight against his hip. Extracting the offending object, he discovered his S.W.O.R.D.-issue mobile phone—the same one he was sure he left on Abigail's side table after he finished packing. When did she plant it on him? His mind went back to all the opportunities she had to touch him and he decided it was probably just outside the car. He smiled, delighted that she could still surprise him even when she wasn't there. He stared at the phone, wondering if it was too soon to call her. She was probably embroiled in some sort of dogfight as soon as she left the atmosphere, which seemed to be how S.W.O.R.D. diplomacy worked. His smile faded—a call from him right now would either look clingy, or distract her from something important. He should wait.

The phone vibrated in his hand, and he put it to his ear immediately. "Abigail?"

"I had an idea. I didn't want to wait to share it with you."

"Go on…?"

"I want to put my mirrors back up. Get some art to hang on the walls. Maybe even paint my room. Or…" she took a deep breath, "our room. If you want."

A thrill ran through him. She was thinking of him, too. "I would be honored. Why don't we visit a gallery this weekend, we can get some prints we both like."

"Yeah! And bring books. I'm gonna build a bookcase."

"I'll find a frame for that photo of you and your mother."

"We need pictures of us, too!"

"And one to keep in my wallet." He hoped she could hear his grin on her end. "That one should be you, with a lot less clothes on than the other pictures."

"What!"

"It would make an excellent reminder of what I have to look forward to on my days away from the X-Men. Have no fear, Abby, I have no intentions of showing it to anyone. Well, maybe Bobby."

He laughed at her inarticulate rage, teasing her until she laughed too. The scenery flew by outside his car and her spaceship, but neither Henry nor Abigail bothered to take notice, entrenched in their plans for next time. Every minute apart was a minute closer to when they would see each other next, and the more they missed each other, the happier their reunion would be. Being apart didn't seem so bad as long as they could still talk to each other, lost in the glow of happiness.


End file.
